by Simone Leigh
“Watch me, Elizabeth.” he says and obediently, I look up into his face.
“No.” he says. “There.” And he eye-points south, to where his massive cock is brushing my entrance. “Watch me Elizabeth. Watch me fucking your cunt.”
I drop my gaze, and he leans in, pushing slowly inside me. An inch. Two inches. Four inches. His thick shaft, wide against my pussy, stretching me open, penetrates slowly and I tremble.
He breaths deeply and says “That’s good Elizabeth. That’s really good. Keep watching.”
Briefly my eyes flick up to his. “Down! Remember what you’re looking at.”
His own hips quiver, and then with a gasp, he plunges the rest of the way inside me, his balls banging against me. Almost instantly my climax starts to gather again, and I moan, then yell, as he pounds inside me to a slow rhythm. Deliberately, he times each stroke, and I watch as he thrusts his cock deep into my core, my pussy welcoming him as he bangs hard into me.
Again and again, I watch as he sheaths himself in me, thrusting in deep, as far as he can go against my inner walls. I gasp and quake, but bound as I am, all I can do is shake, and quiver, and scream. I fling my head back, wanting to scream to the ceiling, but he grabs the back of my head and, fingers twisting through my long red hair, pulls me forward. “Watch, I said!” he says fiercely. “I want you to watch me fucking you.”
I look, as his cock fucks my slick pussy, then, with a deep intake of breath, he shudders against me, pumping his load into me, grasping onto the ropes restraining my knees as he climaxes inside me.
For a moment he remains still, his chest heaving, skin glistening with sweat. Then pulling himself upright, he looks me in the eye and grins. As he unbuckles the cuffs from my knees he says “You’re quite a woman Elizabeth.” With both hands, he sweeps sweaty hair back over his head.
Then he looks at me. “Have you eaten?”
“Er, no. With you asking me to come a bit earlier, I didn’t….”
“Would you like to go out to dinner?”
Would I? On the arm of this amazing man?
“I’d love to, but I’ve nothing to wear. I can’t go out in public wearing what I arrived in.” I’m sure the taxi driver had my number, or at least x-ray vision, when I wore just a long coat over my undies.
He waves that off. “Yes you do. Look in there…” and he points at one of the wardrobes. “I have prepared for this eventuality and you will find plenty to choose from in there. Pick something…. Demure but accessible.”
I begin to see where this is going. “What kind of place are we going to?”
He thinks for a minute. “Courtney’s I think. The management there know me. And the staff are well paid to be discreet about their diners.” He waves me at the wardrobe. “Pick out your clothes. I’m going for a shower.”
I know of Courtney’s. It is well known as a hang-out for celebrities from rock stars to politicians, actors to newspaper tycoons; public faces who value a bit of privacy from time to time. It also has a reputation for being stupendously expensive.
My Master leaves me, like a kid in a sweetie shop, investigating the wardrobe, working my way through beautiful fabrics, expensive designer labels and gorgeous ‘fuck me’ dresses.
All the clothes are beautiful, stylish and well chosen, with a good mix of themes and styles, but as I work my way through them, it dawns on me what the common themes are. Firstly, they are all just my size - how does he do that? And secondly, every one of them is, in some way, ‘easy access’. The lovely garments might be ‘demure’ on the surface, but every one of them has some form of flap, wrap, slit, lace or button, that would allow an experienced hand an easy way in.
I pick out a cocktail dress with a tightly fitted bodice, but loose, flaring skirt. The filmy fabric swirls as I lift it up to admire, then I lay it carefully on the bed before going to shower myself.
Showered, made up and dressed, I go through to the lounge, to find Richa…… my Master, sitting; dressed and well groomed, looking through the file I brought. He glances up, and then looks up again as he registers that I am dressed. He tilts his head admiringly. “Ready?”
“Yes, I think so.”
“I think so too. You look beautiful Elizabeth, but of course, you always do. Shall we go?” He stands, puts the file on the table and offers me his arm.
___________
I walk into the restaurant on the arm of Richard Haswell. It is beautiful; all chandeliers and polished woodwork, with a pianist playing softly in the background. The meal is to die for, perfectly cooked and exquisitely served.
My Master seems distracted. After seeing the clothes in the wardrobe, I had thought that perhaps he would want to make some kind of play in the car on the way here. Instead, whilst he slipped his hand inside the skirt, resting it inside my thigh, he did not speak, simply looking out through the window until, pulling up outside the restaurant, Ross, the driver, asks “You want me to wait, Mr Haswell?”
“Yes please Ross. I’ll call you when we’re ready to leave.”
Sitting at the table, wonderful food being served, wine, a low murmur of conversation around us, he is silent. I had expected that, since he has brought me out to dinner, he might want to talk.
I wonder if I have upset him somehow.
“Mr Haswell. Is something wrong. Have I…. Have I done something wrong?”
He almost jerks back to reality, and smiles at me. “No, not at all Elizabeth. I just have a lot to think about right now. I’m sorry. It’s not very gracious of me to sit in silence. And also, here….” he takes my hand “…. Here, in this place, in this setting, it is ‘Richard.’”
Relief washes over me. “I was beginning to worry that I had upset you, Richard.”
He leans close and kisses me on the forehead, cupping my face in his hands. “No. I was simply distracted. Do enjoy your meal. Is your fish good?”
“Yes, very.” In fact, the fish is divine. Tender white flakes in a buttery sauce, piquant with capers and lemon, and served with tiny, one bite sized vegetables, crisp and fresh, that taste as though they were still on the plant five minutes ago. The restaurant deserves its reputation, and is a world away from the take away pizza I was living on, only a short time ago.
Later, Ross drives the car to my apartment to drop me off. Richard almost growls when he sees where we are.
“I don’t like you living here, Elizabeth. It’s not safe. I can understand why you lived here…. in your previous life…. You couldn’t afford any better then, but it’s different now. Why haven’t you moved somewhere else?”
“Oh I will. I have somewhere picked out in fact. But I’m waiting for my first pay check to come through. Then, trust me…” I laugh… “I’ll be out of here. They won’t see me for dust.”
“Of course, yes. That’s good. Goodnight, Elizabeth.” And he kisses me as I step out of the car.
As I turn the key in the lock, I look back. The car is still there, Ross and Richard both looking at me. “Waiting for something?” I call.
Ross replies. “Always do, Beth.” He tosses his head, pointing to the rear seats. “He’s made it clear that if I don’t stay long enough to see you in, he’ll have my ass.”
I chuckle. It’s nice to know that someone will take the trouble to watch out for me. “That’s great. Goodnight Ross. Goodnight Richard.”
_____________________
In my dingy apartment, my good mood evaporates into a feeling of let-down. Why? I’ve had a wonderful evening, been wined and dined, had sex that leaves me wanting to scrape the top of my head off the ceiling. Why do I suddenly feel blue? The food, so delicious, sits heavy inside me.
In my bed, I admit to myself that I’m lonely for him. I would like to be curled up in his bed, his arms around me as I drift off to sleep.
But that is not the deal I have. This is not a ‘relationship’. I am not his girlfriend, or even a fuck-buddy. I am an employee, simply one with some very good terms written into the agreement we made. I will ha
ve all the good things of life, including the training and education I need to be, one day, rich and independent in my own right. For that, I ‘service’ my Master, billionaire Richard Haswell.
I cannot complain. It is the chance of a lifetime. Nonetheless, I could wish for more.
I cannot sleep, finding myself thinking of my Master; his face as he commands me, deep, deep blue eyes gazing at my breasts, my sex. The obvious pleasure he takes in bringing me to crashing orgasm. His beautiful body, lean and tanned in those linen shirts and tight black jeans that he prefers to wear.
He fucks me to spectacular orgasm every time, but I am beginning to wish that he might, once, make love to me.
Love. The forbidden word. It is not in the contract.
Oh God. Don’t let me fall in love with him.
Almost instinctively, my hands drift south, and I sigh deeply as I open my legs; raising my knees and parting my thighs to allow my fingers entry.
Simply opening myself is so erotic. I think of his eyes on me, watching closely as he commands me to spread myself open, stretch my pussy lips open to his inspection, to pleasure myself, to bring myself to climax, to fuck myself so that he can watch and enjoy, and to take me when he wishes, his fingers probing my juicy core, or his tongue licking long, slow strokes, up through my glistening folds, delving deep, or lightly, barely brushing skin.
I think of his eyes, dark in the glimmering candlelight, intense with desire, brilliant in lust, looking at me, as he instructs me in his wishes. I am to have no secrets. He must see it all.
And I respond and obey, my arousal rising sweet and hot from within, under the power he has over me.
My fingers slide through my red curls, just re-growing after my Master shaved me, that first day he discovered me illicitly using his shower. I chuckle as I remember my reaction - hands tied above my head to his shower fitting, naked to his eyes, as he produced the razor and foam. He shaved me, then tongued me to quivering orgasm before bending me over the basin and fucking me, ball deep inside me, to his own climax.
He hasn’t done anything like that since then and, fingers slipping past to my nub, I wonder if he would like me to wax? Does he want my pussy smooth and naked for him? So that he can see my slit, there for him, glistening with moisture as juices trickle down my thighs
Or does he prefer it now, that sleek red hairs that are peeping through? Or perhaps he wants them to grow so that he can shave me again? My pussy juices flowing, at the thought of his mouth around me, sucking me. A flash of heat stabs up though my sex, and I feel my flow starting again, my slit swelling and my breath quickening.
I work my clit, rubbing and circling, slipping back the hood to reach the sensitive bud within. As I flick it, I think of his tongue encircling, probing with the tip, exploring my pink folds, lapping slowly at my pussy juice, tasting me as he slides fingers inside me and probes me within.
My heart begins to pound, and I wish that I had one of the vibes he uses on me so expertly. I want to feel something inside me so, one hand still plying my swelling nub, the other slides inside, one finger, two, then three. I want him inside me, but this will have to do.
I reach in and up, stretching fingers for my g-spot, massaging hard, and for a moment or so, release my clit to have a free hand to push down hard, flat handed on my belly muscles, increasing the internal pressure on my pussy walls. I think of my Master, bending me forward, taking me from behind, his cock testing and teasing my slit, gently seeking inside me, an inch only, against my entrance, making me twitch and moan and shudder, before ramming into me, hard, grabbing me by the hair and pulling my head backwards, forcing me to arch my back and turning my moans into screams. Rubbing hard at my inner wall, electric arousal sparks flames in my head. I can feel my thighs wet and hot, and the bed damp under me.
Again, I am moaning now, trying to be quiet so as not to be heard through the thin walls to the next apartment. My pulse is racing and I am sweltering under the sheets.
I throw off the covers, and lie, naked and writhing, sleek with sweat, as I plunge my hand deep into my cunt. Again and again, I try to bring my Master within me, taking me with his cock, filling me hard until I can see nothing but him, feel nothing but him. I want him in my pussy. I want him in my mouth. I want to feel him judder and spasm as he cums, spurting his load into me and on me. I want him to orgasm over me, over my face and breasts and belly, into my aching pussy, into my mouth, letting me milk him, lick his cream from my lips and face.
Harder and harder I work myself, plunging my fingers in, as deep as they will go, desperate for a substitute for my Master’s body inside me. My hand is slick from fucking my own saturated pussy, my lips hot and swollen, pulsating with need and the desire for release.
It won’t come. Orgasm just won’t arise within me. I need more. Scanning my room, dimly lit from the streetlights, there is a bottle of baby oil. It will do.
Grabbing the bottle, I slide it inside me. My aching cunt welcomes it, taking it in as I first test for fit, and then plunge deep inside, fucking myself hard, again and again. The bottle is slippery with oil, slick with my juices, but I ram it home, over and over. At some level, I am conscious that the headboard of the bed is clattering against the wall, but I don’t care.
Now my orgasm builds, tension mounting, blood pounding in my ears, my body arched rigid, thighs shuddering and trembling in my search for climax.
With an unquenchable heat, orgasm takes me. My pussy sends pulsating spasms through my body. My thighs and stomach throb and clench, in a rhythm that takes me completely, and I cry out, still working the bottle inside myself, making the ecstasy last as long as I can, drawing out the moment when my Master will leave me.
Pumping away at myself, I hold onto the crescendo as long as I can, before it becomes unbearable and, with a gasp, I whip the bottle out of my still spasming cunt, and lie, gasping and panting on the mattress.
As the climax passes and my breathing slows, there is banging on the wall. “Keep that fucking noise down!”
To Hell with the neighbours. I’ll be out of here soon.
The Story Continues in “The Master’s Fantasies
The Master’s Fantasies
An Alpha Male, BDSM, Billionaire, Erotic Romance
Part Five of the
‘Bought by the Billionaire’ Series
Author: Simone Leigh
Part Five
The Master’s Fantasies
I do not see my Master for some days; he is ‘out of town’. When he reappears at the office, on the occasions that I see him, he seems distracted and says little to me. I wonder if I have done something wrong, or worse, if he is growing tired of me. Then Francis, his PA buzzes me. “Beth. Can you come up please. He wants to see you.”
“I’ll be five minutes.”
As I step out of the lift, Francis is sitting behind her desk outside the office, a thoughtful expression on her face. There are angry voices coming from behind the door to Richard’s office. Francis meets my eyes with raised eyebrows.
“Hi Beth. I’d take a seat if I were you. I don’t know how long this is going to be.”
The shouting continues. After a couple more minutes, and with one voice becoming ever louder and more angry, Francis picks up the phone. “Frank? Yes? Can you send Security up to the fifth floor please. Yes, that’s right, now please.”
As she puts the phone down, the office door bangs open, and Mack Kane stamps out, red faced and furious. Slamming the door closed, as he sees me, he takes a step towards me, murder in his eyes.
“Don’t think I don’t know it wasn’t you, you little bitch…”
I have no idea what he is talking about, and involuntarily I sit back in my chair as Mack steps closer to me, one hand raised.
At that moment, the lift doors swish open and out step two, blue uniformed, security guards. Mack sees them and backs off. At the same moment, Richard comes out of his office, looking stern but calm, “Francis, can you call Security please…. Ah, already here, I se
e. Thank you, Francis. Ben, Alan, can you please accompany Mr Kane to the exit. He will not be needing his security badge any more. And he is not to be re-admitted without my express permission.”
He turns to Francis. “Francis, can you please clear Mr Kane’s desk, and forward any personal effects to his home address.”
Mack is almost purple with fury and turns to me, jabbing a finger in my direction, a clear threat in his eyes. “You bitch. You haven’t heard the last of this…”
I am completely baffled. “I’m sorry but I don’t unders….”
Richard interrupts. “Are you threatening a member of staff, Mr Kane? Should we call the Police?”
Mack falls silent, but his face is still mottled red with fury. Stiffly, he turns and heads for the lift, accompanied by the security guards. As the doors swish closed behind them, Richard turns to Francis. “Make sure he’s out of the building, and that all the reception staff have clear instructions that he’s not to be permitted back in. Then, get onto IT, and get his security codes and passwords changed, right now.”
Francis nods. “Yes, Mr Haswell.”
He takes a deep breath, and stares up at the ceiling for a moment. Then “Francis, a pot of coffee please. Elizabeth, in here if you would. You deserve an explanation.”
I follow him into the office, and he waves me to the settee.
“Elizabeth, I’m sorry. This wasn’t your fault. When you brought me that file of ‘inconsistencies’ to me that you said you didn’t understand, you were quite correct. Those ‘inconsistencies’ were not your misunderstandings of the procurement system. As I read through, and then, when I investigated more deeply, it was quickly clear that what appeared to you to be the case, in fact, was the case. Someone was, in effect, having the same goods and services charged for twice and sometimes, more than twice. It would have been picked up at some point with a physical stock-take on goods, but that could have been months away and in the meantime, you have saved the company a great deal of money.”