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

by Alexis Adaire

  I did as told, leaving my clothes in my living room as I moved to the bedroom and opened my dresser drawer. I removed my purple Rabbit vibrator and climbed onto the bed.

  “Okay, I have it,” I said.

  “I’ll call you right back,” he said, then the line went dead.

  I lay on the bed naked, my phone in one hand and my Rabbit in the other. My heart had not stopped pounding since I walked out of M’s office toward the elevator an hour earlier, and I felt tiny beads of sweat forming on my face and body.

  My phone announced a Skype video call from M. My thoughts scrambled in the second before I answered it: He wanted to watch me get myself off with a vibrator, and I might finally see him.

  I pushed the button and saw nothing on the screen but a cartoon avatar of a smiling man with sunglasses on. I held the phone in front of my face.

  “Can you see me?” I asked.

  “Yes,” M said, his voice still rigid. “Show me your body.”

  Without thinking twice I angled the phone down my body so that he could see that I was indeed naked. I held the Rabbit up in front of the phone.

  “I have a feeling I know what you want me to do with this,” I said, trying to sound coy. I know I should have been scared, or at least anxious, at the idea of masturbating over video for this total stranger, this man who wouldn’t even show me his face. Instead, I was very excited and felt the wetness between my legs.

  “Then do it,” M said.

  My fingers found the Rabbit’s switches and it whirred noisily to life as I brought it down between my legs. The phone’s camera was still on my face as I gently pressed the vibrator against my pussy, pushing it between my wet lips until it slid easily into me. I moaned softly at the phone.

  “Show me.”

  I moved the phone down over my body toward my pussy, holding the camera still as I moved the Rabbit in and out of me. Maybe I should have been mortified, but this was the hottest thing I’d ever done with anyone. The only thing embarrassing about it was how quickly I felt myself building toward a climax. M was likely expecting a longer show.

  “Did anyone see you in the car, Rachel?” M asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Tell me what happened,” he ordered.

  I described the interactions with the elderly man on the sidewalk and the younger man in the crosswalk, both staring at my exposed breasts.

  “Did you enjoy it?” he asked.

  “Yes,” I said. As I was saying it I realized I actually had. It wasn’t exactly fun, but it had been tremendously exciting, especially the few seconds with the young hipster. He had been riveted to the spot, unable to move; my chubby body had rendered him helpless. I gasped as the Rabbit’s ears teased my clit.

  “Good,” M said. “One day you will stand completely naked in front of men you’ve never met and you’ll see the effect your beautiful body has on them.”

  My mind filled with dirty thoughts of men staring at my nakedness. I began to moan and my body writhed as I fucked myself with that vibrator, knowing that M was watching me intently and that his gorgeous cock was hard as a rock.

  “Show me your face,” M said abruptly. “I want to watch you as you come.”

  I moved the phone up to my face and instantly erupted in a violent orgasm, the spasms surging through my body as I tried to coax out as many as possible. It lasted an absurdly long time, and when it finally subsided I switched off the vibrator and tried to catch my breath.

  I gazed longingly at the phone’s screen, imaging M’s face on the other end. All I saw, though, was the cartoon man in sunglasses smiling at me. A drop of sweat trickled down my temple.

  “That’s my girl,” M said tenderly.

  “Are you hard?” I asked.

  “For you, always. Goodnight, baby.”

  M ended the call as another drop of sweat rolled off my face.

  I smiled dreamily at my phone, feeling as if I were melting.

  7

  Lethargy kept me in bed after I awoke on Monday and I had no desire to go to work. I just wanted to lie around and think about M and the things he’d made me do for him the last two days. Better yet, I wanted to be ordered to do something else, anything that would please him.

  Instead I forced myself to shower and head to the office, then daydreamed the morning away. Lindsey stopped by my office and asked if we could get lunch together. We grabbed some Greek from a nearby food truck, then headed to O’Bryant Park to eat. I suggested we sit across from where I’d been sitting just two days earlier with my blouse dangerously unbuttoned. I wanted to look at that spot and imagine how I must have appeared to others as I read my book.

  “You’re lost in thought today,” Lindsey said.

  I was unaware that I’d been staring at a short brick wall until I heard her voice.

  “Sorry, just spacing out a little.”

  “What’s up with you?” she asked. “It’s Flower Man, isn’t it?” I actually kind of liked her new nickname for M. “Did you talk to him over the weekend?”

  Lindsey was my best friend and probably the only one with whom I could share this sort of thing. I told her what had taken place over the weekend, realizing as I did that the moments that had left the biggest impression on me were the four interactions I’d had with men: Eric the lawyer, my neighbor Todd, the middle-aged man I asked for directions on the waterfront walk, and the hipster in the crosswalk. In each of those instances, I’d felt more powerful than if I’d been more chastely dressed.

  When I finished I saw that Lindsey’s lower jaw had dropped.

  “Rachel, you have to be careful with this guy,” she warned. “You don’t know anything about him. Didn’t you see Catfish?”

  I knew the movie she was talking about, a documentary about a guy who falls in love with someone he knew only on Facebook. Although I didn’t know how the film ended, I could tell by Lindsey’s tone that things probably worked out horribly for the guy.

  “No, I haven’t seen it,” I said.

  “Well you should. You should watch it before you talk to him again.” She looked at me pitifully, as if I were truly doing something crazy. “Seriously, think this through. I don’t want to see you hurt. For all you know, he might have recorded that Skype and already put the video on the Internet.”

  “M wouldn’t do that,” I insisted.

  “You don’t know that for sure,” Lindsey said. “Hell, you don’t even know his name.”

  Those words occupied my thoughts for the rest of the afternoon. I needed to know I could trust M before we went any further. I did some more Google-snooping to try to dig up something, anything about him, but came up empty-handed. Remembering the beautiful bra, I did an image search for “Carine Gilson bras” and soon found the one that I’d worn for less than half an hour the day before. After a little more poking around I learned that it sold for around $550. That amount of money was so insignificant to M that he considered the bra disposable. Yet it would have been among the nicest, most expensive clothing items I’d ever owned. I wasn’t even sure how to process that little nugget of information.

  The last thing I did before I left my office was to check if Catfish was available on Netflix. It was, and I put it in my queue with the intention of watching it after dinner. Lindsey was right, I needed to be more careful. I wasn’t ready to back out of the relationship at this point, but I had to be cautious in how I proceeded until I finally met M face-to-face.

  All that prudence disappeared into thin air when I got home that evening. FedEx had left a package for me in the apartment office. The return address was a PO box. Certain it was from M, I hurried upstairs and opened it to see another box inside from Bondeson, the same boutique where he’d bought the sheer blouse and the bra. I quickly opened that one to find a half dozen Carine Gilson bras of varying styles and colors, all my size and all absolutely gorgeous.

  How could I have not trusted this man? Even though he was technically my dom, he was more thoughtful than any boyfriend I’d ever had. />
  I noticed something in the box under the bras and fished it out. It was a T-shirt, obviously used. I held it up and saw an olive green Pearl Jam souvenir tour shirt with a few small holes worn in it.

  What the hell?

  Then I saw a folded piece of paper lying in the bottom of the box. I opened it and was looking at handwriting. Maybe M’s handwriting, I thought.

  I bought this shirt at my first concert. You are to wear it — and nothing else — to bed every night. It will make me happy to fall asleep knowing that it is touching your glorious naked body.

  I immediately stripped and put the T-shirt on. I wore it all night and refused to watch Catfish. Instead I began reading Conquer Me: girl-to-girl wisdom about fulfilling your submissive desires in earnest.

  To be continued...

  Join my e-mail list to get updates

  on the Forced to Bloom series.

  Forced to Bloom

  The Complete Series

  Book 3

  by Alexis Adaire

  1

  The good news: I was in a relationship for the first time in quite a while and feeling pretty good about myself. My new man and I were getting along fabulously and everything in my life felt shiny and exciting. He was a sexy, charming billionaire dom and I was his submissive. And I felt better about myself than I had in years.

  The bad news: I’d never met my new guy, or even seen his face. I had no idea what his name was or what he looked like, apart from having seen his erect cock on my phone for a few seconds during a video call. And I hadn’t had sex with anyone in months and was dying for some skin-to-skin contact.

  Welcome to the life of Rachel Malinsky, age 29, of Portland, Oregon. I was quite possibly the world’s only sub who has never met her dom. M — the single letter is how he instructed me to refer to him — evidently had something in his past that prevented him from wanting to meet me in person. He refused to discuss it, though, telling me that we would meet face to face when I earned his trust. That promise would have to suffice for the time being.

  M was special, apart from the obvious thing about his astounding wealth. In other relationships I’d been in, I’d always felt bad about my size-fourteen body, constantly trying to lose weight and wondering if they would have preferred a thinner woman. M actually made me feel good about being a bigger girl. He loved my body and it was because of him I realized that regardless of what the media would have you believe, not every guy wants a girl with a perfect figure.

  Yes, he’d seen me naked. On his instructions, I’d sent M pictures and even let him watch me masturbate on Skype once. He loved my body so much, he instructed me to wear outfits in public that were more risque than anything I’d ever imagined wearing. I’d walked along the downtown Portland waterfront on a sunny day in a sheer blouse with nothing on underneath, and I’d driven my car topless. Of course, I’d worn a wig and sunglasses so nobody I know would recognize me, but as terrified as I had been to be forced by my dom to do those things, I always felt empowered afterward.

  M was teaching me to love myself the way I was. Because of that, I found myself falling in love with a man I’d never met.

  So I did what any woman in my situation would do, assuming any woman has ever actually been in a situation like mine: I hired a detective to find out more about him.

  It seemed harmless enough at the time. I didn’t want to cause any trouble for M, but if he was going to insist we don’t meet in person and deny me the basic knowledge of his name, it seemed like the only thing I could do. I just wanted to know who he was; that would theoretically make it easier for me if he still wanted to keep me at a distance. I already knew I was falling for someone with a fetish for exhibitionism; knowing his identity would lessen my fear that he was possibly dangerous.

  I met with a private investigator suggested by my friend and co-worker, Lindsey. She’d used him to dig up dirt on her husband when he filed for divorce, and sure enough there was enough dirt to bury the scumbag. The meeting was brief, mainly because I had precious little information to provide the investigator, John Collingwood.

  “Okay, so here’s what we have,” John said, peering at his notes. “You’re looking for a very wealthy man—”

  “A billionaire,” I corrected him.

  “A billionaire,” he continued, “who has the initial M and conducts business in Portland, though he may or may not live here. He’s got a good build.”

  He looked up over his glasses. “That’s all you’ve got? You can’t think of anything else?”

  I wondered how much I should share, not wanting to get into too much detail about what had taken place between M and me. Then I remembered the gift he’d had delivered to me a few days earlier.

  “He said his first concert was the Pearl Jam ‘Vs’ tour sometime in the nineties. I would guess he was between thirteen and eighteen at that point.”

  “Good. I’ll find out when that was and we can narrow down his current age,” John said. “That should help.”

  John promised to get back to me as soon as he had anything for me. When I walked out of his office, I was excited and optimistic about my chances of learning M’s identity. By the time I’d gotten home, though, I’d begun to worry about what M would do if he somehow learned what I was up to.

  ♦

  I was expecting to hear from M again during the week, thinking he’d set up a task or two for me for the weekend, and I grew anxious wondering what exhibitionistic dare he’d hand me. They weren’t really dares, since as his sub I had no choice but to obey, but they felt like dares. It was as though M was challenging me to do things that were increasingly risky.

  When he texted me on Wednesday, I was surprised that he actually wanted to see me on a weeknight.

  Come by my office tomorrow night at 7:00. Don’t change after work.

  I spent a while that night picking out the right outfit so that when I showed up at M’s office, I’d look my best for him. Chances were he’d have something else for me to change into, but I wanted to grab his attention with that initial look.

  After being nervous as hell all day, I had almost two hours to kill before my appointment with M. I could have stayed in my office and worked a little extra, but I really needed a drink to calm my nerves so I hit a local bar for happy hour. As I sat at the bar with my vodka tonic, a man in a business suit stood next to me trying unsuccessfully to get the bartender’s attention.

  “Eddie!” I shouted to the bartender, then pointed to the man. I’d been going there for a couple of years and knew Eddie well. I smiled at the guy in the suit and said, “You have to speak up during happy hour.”

  After thanking me, he took a seat on the next stool. I could feel his eyes on me and I turned to face him. He was about my age and boyishly handsome. “What’s your name?” I asked calmly.

  “Brian,” he said.

  “I’m Rachel,” I said, “and you should buy me a drink, Brian.” I’m still not sure where that came from. Maybe that first vodka tonic, maybe my recent M-inspired surge in self-confidence. Probably a combination of the two. Regardless, Brian grinned, then got Eddie’s attention and ordered my drink.

  We talked for a while and I found myself returning Brian’s banter without succumbing to nervous blathering. This may not sound like much, but for me it was a huge step to be flirting with an attractive man. I’d just finished that second drink when I checked my phone and saw that I only had ten minutes to get to M’s office. I quickly excused myself and slid off the barstool, my breast brushing against Brian’s arm as I did. He scrawled his cell number on a business card and handed it to me, saying he’d love to see me again. I was feeling pretty good about myself when I walked out. As I hurried to M’s office a short distance away, I took a quick look at Brian’s business card: “Brian Emerson, Certified Tax Planner.” I smiled and tossed it in the first trash can I passed.

  I got to M’s office just a few minutes late. Whitney was again working the reception desk and knew I was late, so we only said
a brief hello before she let me into M’s office.

  “You’re late,” the laptop was already on, the screen showing the same picture of the woman on the MAX car with her breast exposed to a dozen or more other passengers. I looked at her and smiled.

  “I’m sorry, M,” I said, casting my eyes downward. “I stopped at happy hour after work. I’ll be more careful next time. I promise it won’t happen again.”

  There was only silence. I looked back up at the image on the computer while waiting for M to continue. I looked at the woman’s breast, then at the faces of the others in the MAX car. It was beginning to get awkward when M finally spoke again.

  “How many drinks did you have?”

  “Two,” I replied. “Why?”

  “Because there are certain things I won’t ask of you when you’ve been drinking,” he said. “Next time, you should ask my permission before drinking alcohol when we have a meeting scheduled.”

  “I’m very sorry,” I said, trying to sound remorseful.

  “Were you with someone?”

  “I went there alone,” I said, hesitating before adding, “I met someone and talked to him over drinks.” My anxiety was rising. Was M upset with me?

  “Did you flirt?” he asked.

  Oh shit. “Yes, a little. Not seriously, though.”

  “I see.” There was a long pause. I started to ask if he was angry, but decided just to keep my mouth shut. “I hope you enjoyed yourself,” he said. I couldn’t tell by his tone of voice whether he was being sincere or sarcastic.

  “I want to show you something,” M said. Was I going to actually see him, or part of him? The screen flickered and I was looking at a different still image, an outdoor scene of people in a park. In the center of the picture was a woman with long blonde hair and a body type similar to—

  Oh my God.