Don't Ever Stop: A BDSM Billionaire Romance

by Rock, Vivie

  Good conscience: This will all end in tears.

  Bad conscience: I’ve never been truly daring my whole life. This is my moment.

  Good conscience: He will either murder you or rape you. One or the other.

  Bad conscience: He’s polite, he’s been open with me, he’s unbelievably sexy…

  So, once again, the bad conscience won out. Perhaps I’d never learn. I guess whether or not you’re truly aware of it, you do pick your own destiny.

  ‘I’ve warmed up your muscles nicely. I’m going to get the scented oils now, Miss Smith, and give you a deep tissue massage.’

  I kept my eyes closed as I heard the masseuse, Jessica, tiptoe away for a moment. Then I heard her soft-footed return, and the sound of oil being rubbed between her palms. I let the sounds and sensations wash over me. I hadn’t felt this relaxed in months. No, scratch that – years. I hadn’t felt this relaxed since before starting my Degree.

  I felt Jessica’s hands on my shoulder blades, warm and slick, and I melted into the bed as she began touching me again. Soon I smelt the exotic scent of the oil she’d chosen for me: a dusty, citrusy, peppery, deep, almost smoky, aroma. It was a heady mix. I felt almost intoxicated. I opened my eyes but the effort was too great, and, heavily, they fell shut again.

  ‘Mr. Cooper chose this scent especially for you,’ Jessica said quietly as she rubbed the oil into my skin. ‘Frankinscence, sandalwood and ylang-ylang. You’re a very lucky lady. A man thinks a lot of you to pick a mixture like that.’

  Her knuckles pressed down my spine, straightening my out, and her hands swept across the muscles in my back, loosening me up with every movement. I let the smells and the slick sounds of oil wash over me, lulling me to a point of relaxation that it was so deep it was almost sleep…

  *

  ‘Miss Smith?’ Jessica asked, her hands on my shoulders. ‘It’s time for you to wake up now. You don’t want to be late!’

  I was lying on my back now, naked from the waist up, and covered in oils. Even my breasts were slick and shiny with oil. Had Jessica massaged my breasts while I was asleep? I felt kind of excited at the thought.

  Jessica handed me a glass of water, looking down shyly at my body as she gave it to me. ‘You’re very beautiful, Miss Smith,’ she said, blushing.

  I looked down at my breasts, which had quickly grown an entire cup size since I’d started eating more, and they were the fullest they’d ever been. Luckily the extra weight didn’t drag them down; they were still just as perky as ever. With the oil all over them, and the nipples erect in the cold, they did look pretty good. Maybe I wasn’t so bad after all. I didn’t look like a woman from a magazine, but who wanted that? Mr. Cooper didn’t seem to want it. Right now, he seemed to want me.

  I drank the water, which was subtly flavoured with lemon, and then Jessica left the room while I dressed. I couldn’t believe the three hours were up already. I’d had a swim, a sauna and a jacuzzi, followed by a seaweed body wrap, and a massage. I could have stayed here for days, or weeks. I felt like I was walking on air. Everyone had referred to me as Miss Smith throughout the day, telling me that Mr. Cooper had ordered me this or that treatment, handing me strawberries, making me feel like a princess. The only thing I’d found disappointing is that, while the other guests were all drinking as much free champagne as they liked, I was told that: ‘Mr. Cooper has forbidden you to drink. I’m sorry.’

  Still, I’d probably had more than enough to drink lately, and I was having too much fun as it was. That said, a drink might have helped steady my nerves…

  I pulled on my black skirt and a plain white t-shirt. It was a risky move, but my breasts were so oily that I didn’t feel like putting my bra back on, so I put it in my handbag. I knew that even though my nipples were pale, they’d still be visible beneath the t-shirt. Given that they were so oily, the t-shirt might even grow see-through. But I felt so relaxed that somehow, it didn’t bother me.

  I headed into the spa’s reception, sitting on a comfortable chair, breathing deeply, and lazily watching the other guests as I waited for my cab to show up. Most of the guests were wandering around in soft, white towelling robes. Even without their clothes on, I felt like there was something about the people here that made them look rich. They looked like they used good face creams, wore expensive-looking gems on their fingers and ears, had the confident appearance of someone who’d managed to get what they wanted out of life.

  I noticed an old man in a robe, sitting in a chair opposite me, staring at my white t-shirt. I looked down. Oh god. It was as I’d suspected. The t-shirt material had become see-through. I didn’t have a sweater with me, either. I crossed my arms, but that had the unfortunate effect of pushing my breasts together, creating an enticing cleavage. The man opposite me licked his lips and then made to stand up. I hoped he was wearing underpants under his robe. I didn’t want to see any nasty surprises.

  ‘Miss Smith.’ A man in a chauffeur’s uniform appeared at the door. ‘The car is ready for you.’

  I stood up and thanked the women at reception, and then followed the chauffeur outside. I couldn’t believe what was waiting for me there. A long, white stretch limousine! I’d been expecting a cab - not this!

  The chauffeur opened the door for me, and, in shock, I got inside. I couldn’t believe how big it was in here. The interior was so clean it smelt new. There was a bucket of ice on a low table in front of me, and a bottle of fizzy water inside it. Not as exciting as champagne, but hey, I’d had all this other five-star treatment all day, so who was I to complain?

  I cracked open the water and sat back while the chauffeur drove me towards my secret destination.

  I wondered where he’d be taking me. A manor house? A castle? A palace?

  I wondered, as well, whether I should put my bra back on. The chauffeur was wearing sunglasses. I wasn’t sure whether he’d be able to see me if he looked into his rear view mirror. My guess was that he would.

  Before I’d made a decision about what to do, I heard my cell beep inside my bag. I pulled it out and checked the screen.

  Rose. Scene begins when you arrive. Lasts 3 hours. Remember safeword if you need it. Hope you had a good day.

  I put my phone back in my handbag, and sat back in my seat, getting that nervous churning in my stomach all over again.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  In At The Deep End

  After a stomach-churning, twenty minute ride, the limo swung a right off the Thruway, and then pulled into a large expanse of concrete that looked very much like an industrial estate. In fact, it was an industrial estate. The huge parking lot and overbearing warehouses gave it away. The chauffeur, a quiet man, in his forties, I guess, turned his head slightly as he slowed down the vehicle, and began parking up. ‘Well, Miss Smith, this is it.’

  I looked out of the window. No. Surely not. This couldn’t be it. I thought I was meeting Mr. Cooper at a fancy hotel. I’d been dreaming of the Crosby Street Hotel, the Four Seasons, or maybe, given Mr. Cooper’s proclivities, the Mandarin Oriental. But not some seedy industrial park upstate.

  I didn’t want to leave the shiny, expensive interior of the limo. It felt so out of place here, in this dump. What was going on? Was my boss going to murder me here after all? Was the chauffeur in on it too?

  ‘He owns that warehouse,’ the driver said to me. ‘The one over there.’ He pointed to a large, blue, unremarkable-looking building nearby. ‘Said he wants to show you something.’ He laughed. ‘Don’t worry, he’s not going to kill you in there.’

  Just then, I saw the door of the blue warehouse swing open, and I saw Mr. Cooper standing there. He lifted a palm in greeting, but there was no smile on his face.

  ‘Go on then, Miss,’ said the driver. ‘I’ll be waiting here for you. Got three hours to kill, apparently. Hope you like whatever he has to show you in there.’ From the jovial but polite way the driver was talking, it was clear he had no idea what Mr. Cooper had planned.

  I got out of the car,
steeling myself for what was about to come, and I walked towards the door.

  Mr. Cooper didn’t step forwards, and he still didn’t smile. He was dressed in a black t-shirt and loose black pants. It struck me that I’d never seen him out of a suit. He looked good. Even more muscular. And, in those loose black pants, he looked like a martial arts expert or something. Very rugged.

  I gave him a nervous wave as I approached, and, for some reason, a nervous giggle, but he didn’t respond. His face remained deadly serious.

  ‘I wasn’t expecting this,’ I babbled nervously. ‘A warehouse. What are we doing here?’

  Mr. Cooper stood in the doorway, blocking my entrance. ‘Take off your shoes,’ he commanded.

  I noticed that his shoes were bare.

  I bent down in front of him and unfastened my kitten heels, then stood on the concrete outside in bare feet, shivering. I wished I had worn a bra under my t-shirt. I looked down and confirmed my worst suspicions: my nipples were like bullets. Mr. Cooper wasn’t looking at my nipples, though. He was staring at my feet.

  ‘You’ll need to wash those,’ he said, walking inside, leaving me to grab the door after him, and follow me in.

  ‘Thank you so much for the spa treatment,’ I said (you know what I’m like, with my nervous chatter) as we walked down a plain, white corridor, my bare feet freezing on the cold, hard floor, shoes grasped tightly in my hand.

  He led me into a small, basic-looking kitchen. There was a sink, a stove, and a table. No chairs.

  ‘Wash your feet,’ Mr. Cooper said to me. ‘They’re filthy. I sent you to the spa to get clean. Look at you now.’

  ‘I, I–‘ I wanted to tell him that they were perfectly clean before I had to take them off in the parking lot, but I could no longer find my tongue. Mr. Cooper looked so harsh, so annoyed, so mean, that I didn’t want to upset him further.

  ‘On the floor,’ he said, pointing.

  I looked up at him, at his glaring sincerity, and then sat down on the floor. He went to the sink, wet a sponge, and then threw it down beside me with a wet thud. Some of the water splattered onto my skirt.

  ‘Wipe,’ he said, and I took the sponge, and began to wipe my feet. ‘Your legs are dirty now too,’ he said. ‘Wipe your legs.’

  I put out my legs in front of me, and rubbed my shins with the sponge, which had now grown dirty from the floor too.

  I looked up at Mr. Cooper when I felt I was finished, and caught him staring intently at my legs. ‘You haven’t finished,’ he said. ‘Wash them all the way up.’

  I felt like I was smearing dirty dishwater all over myself. The water was tepid and dripping onto the floor and forming brownish pools of water. Still, I did as my boss said, desperate not to disappoint him this early on in our meeting. I lifted my skirt and ran the wet sponge over my thighs.

  ‘The insides of your thighs too,’ Mr. Cooper said, sensing I was going to leave them out.

  I opened my legs a little, not even needing to look up to know that he was staring intently at the space between my thighs. Then, shivering, I ran the wet sponge all the way up to my panties, feeling the water dripping onto the fresh white cotton, making them see-through at the crotch.

  ‘That’s enough,’ said Mr. Cooper softly, taking the sponge off me, then carefully washing his hands with soap and water. I stayed shivering on the cold floor until he told me to get up, and then I followed him down another corridor.

  I was worried, having washed my feet, that they’d get dirty again, and that would displease Mr. Cooper, but the floor in here was immaculate. It had been painted white, same as the ceiling and walls. I was sure I could smell fresh paint.

  Eventually, he took a doorway to the right, and led me into the huge, open space of the warehouse. In here, just as in the corridor, everything was white. There was no furniture anywhere to see, just plain white floor, white columns, every few metres apart, a high, white ceiling and white walls.

  Mr. Cooper led me over to one of the white columns, and pushed me up against it. The warmth and closeness of his body surprised me. I dropped my shoes and the clatter as they hit the floor echoed around the space. His torso pushed against mine. Without my bra on, my breasts felt bare against him. He was so tall that his abdominal muscles pressed against my nipples. I wondered if he could feel how hard they were beneath my t-shirt.

  He bent down, pushing my back hard into the pillar behind me, and whispered into my ear: ‘I didn’t ask you to come dressed like a little whore.’

  I was so embarrassed that I almost yelped. What had I been thinking? A white t-shirt and no bra? In front of my boss? And his chauffeur?

  Mr. Cooper took hold of my forearms, and held them tight at my sides, while he stepped backwards and looked at my breasts. He tutted. ‘I’ll tell you when I want you to dress like a whore,’ he said. ‘I’m the one in charge.’

  His words echoed around the space while his eyes lingered on my nipples for a while longer. Then, still gripping my arms, he held my arms high above my head, and pushed them up against the pillar, restraining me. He held my wrists together with one hand, and with the other, began pulling up my t-shirt. ‘I want this gone,’ he said scornfully. ‘Take off your t-shirt.’

  He pushed my wrists hard against the stone behind me, and then stepped back again, so he could take my body in as I undressed.

  I knew he wanted me naked, that it was a prerequisite for getting tied up, but I’d been trying not to think too much about the moment I’d finally have to do it. No man had ever seen me completely naked - not even Jacob. He’d felt me up in the dark a couple of times, but I was nervous about anyone seeing my body. It didn’t look perfect, like women in magazines. My left breast was a little smaller than my right. Even though I was super skinny, I had stretch marks across my hips.

  Even so, Mr. Cooper was looking at me impatiently, and I had no choice but to obey him. I took the hem of my t-shirt, and pulled it up, over my breasts. I got my head caught in the fabric as I tried to pull it all the way off, and for a moment I was stuck, blindfolded, my face covered in white cotton, while my breasts hung in the air completely free of clothing, before my boss’ eyes. I was half-expecting him to reach out and grab them, or to comment on the way they looked, but if he was reacting, I couldn’t tell. Finally, I got the t-shirt over my head, and stood there, topless in front of him, cold and afraid.

  ‘Now take off your skirt,’ he ordered. ‘And your underwear.’ His voice had changed slightly – become deeper.

  I took the elastic waistband of my skirt between my trembling fingers, and pulled it down over my knees. My white panties, a brand new pair I’d spent forever choosing on my lunch break the other day, were damp with the sponge water, and I could see my pubic hair beneath them. I took them off too, and left the clothes in a heap at my feet, unsure what to do with them.

  I crossed my arms, then tried hiding my pubic hair, then both, but Mr. Cooper grabbed my arms again, and held them behind the pillar. Something cold licked against my wrists, then I heard a lock snap shut: handcuffs. He’d handcuffed me to the column.

  He stayed pressed up against my naked body, and inhaled deeply. ‘You smell good,’ he said. ‘Sandalwood. Frankincense. Ylang-ylang. Just as I wanted. Perhaps you aren’t such a naughty girl after all.’

  ‘I’m a good girl,’ I said, quietly, under my breath.

  ‘Did I ask you to speak?’ he replied quickly.

  I shook my head.

  ‘Say “no sir”,’ he ordered.

  ‘No sir,’ I said, and swallowed.

  ‘No I did not ask you to speak, little whore.’ He began to walk around me, in a circle, taking me all in, my nipples, my stomach, my pussy. ‘I’m going to go and get the rope now. You,’ he grabbed me by the hair, and pulled my face just inches from his mouth, ‘don’t move a muscle.’

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  Green To Red

  I watched Mr. Cooper walk away, in thick-soled black boots, commanding the space, seemingly at home here as much as
if it was his own apartment. I looked around the empty, echoing warehouse, my breath shallow and quick, wondering what on earth I was doing here. If I was safe. Whether Mr. Cooper had a screw loose.

  I’ll admit: I thought, for a moment, about screaming. Maybe the limo driver was an innocent party, and he’d hear me outside. Perhaps he’d be out there having a cigarette, or on his cell, and he’d hear the screams and come running in. I even thought about trying to reach my bag with my foot, and somehow pressing 911 with my big toe, alerting the cops to my location.

  But I’ll also admit that I was kind of intrigued. I’d signed the contract – sorry, negotiation – that my boss had emailed to me the other day. He’d been very clear about what to expect. I knew we were acting out a ‘scene’. That I could stop the whole thing if I wanted to, by just uttering one safeword. What was it again? Green for more, yellow for less, red to stop. Easy enough to remember, right?

  I couldn’t believe my boss had seen me naked. The first man to see me without any clothes on. It was strange. Being naked in front of someone wasn’t so bad. It felt kind of freeing. I wasn’t sure what I’d feared might happen. Laughter. Disgust. Horror. Having Mr. Cooper in charge, acting like this with me, dominating me, telling me what to do, telling me off for doing things wrong – that felt freeing too. I knew that I wanted more of it. As I waited there, cold and nervous, I begun to say a word in my head. That word was: green.

  Green, green, green…

  After what felt like about half an hour, but in reality was probably only ten minutes, Mr. Cooper returned with the box he’d shown me at his apartment. I felt a twinge of fear when I looked at it.

  ‘I’m going to tie you up,’ he said, placing the box on the floor, its echo sounding above me. ‘And then I’m going to take pictures of you.’

  Photographs? Oh shit. He hadn’t mentioned that.