Bought By The Billionaire

Chapter 2: Bought By The Billionaire - Chapter Two

"Enjoying this, aren't we …" he whispers. "Want to take things further?" Exclusive content © by Nô(v)el/Dr/ama.Org.

Do I want to? He’s driving me wild. Tied up as I am, this stranger could do anything to me, but his slow, careful, caressing, and touching is arousing me far more than any straight shag could have. I am quivering with arousal, but I can't bring myself to reply. After all, he is still a stranger who has tied me up.

"Shy, eh?" he whispers again. "Let's see if we can fix that …"

With his head nestling into the curve of my neck and shoulder, he reaches behind me with one hand, firmly pulling my buttocks to him. I hear a clunk and then another, and I am puzzled.

"I thought I should play the gentleman," he says. "Time to take my shoes off." As it dawns on me, in my stupefied arousal, that he is still more or less fully clothed, his feet slide between mine, easing my legs apart. I stagger slightly, but his other arm takes my weight as I regain my balance.

"Now," he says. "Do I need to tie those ankles apart? Or do I get some cooperation?"

I still can’t bring myself to speak. My trembling continues, and I am beginning to pant, my breath coming in short bursts and my colour rising. He knows exactly what he is doing to me.

"Still shy? We'd better sort it out then." He releases me slowly and stands up straight. "Don't move, Miss Silent," he says as he turns and walks out of the room.

For a minute or so I hear nothing, and then there is music, some kind of soft classical. It grows louder, and then he comes back into the bathroom carrying the roses I saw earlier and something else I can’t make out. He has stripped off his shirt. His smoothly muscled torso bespeaks the kind of man who either has a very physical job or who works out, knowing that women don't go looking for overly muscled morons. In his bare feet and wearing just his black jeans, which are now bulging at the front;

dark-haired, lambent eyed, and clearly with a purpose in mind, he is utterly, astonishingly, suggestive and inviting.

I could no more have said No than fly.

But I cannot quite bring myself to say Yes or, more appropriately; Please.

"I hope you like the music, Miss Silent," he says. "I think it's time we got some noise out of you. The music should cover it up in case anyone comes by." He brings the roses close to my face. "I did have other plans for this evening, but she stood me up. Would you like these? They are beautiful, aren't they? Do you like the scent?"

The scent is ravishing. What kind of woman stood this man up? I can’t imagine. Delicately, slowly, he holds the roses for me to smell, and then, with only the very tips of the petals, he caresses my face with the flowers. The petals have small drops of water on them, and as he brushes my face and then moves down my neck, and over my breasts and stomach, the small cold droplets chill me and titillate at the same time. A moan escapes me, and I feel my pussy juices running below.

He smiles and raises his eyebrows. "Ahh … so you can make noises. Let's see what else you can do."

Abruptly, he turns away, and quite carefully, places the roses in the basin. He produces the something that I was unable to identify before—it is a spreader bar with leather ankle cuffs…

What kind of evening did he have planned before?

He looks at me and grins wickedly. "This might be even better than what I had planned," he says. He displays the bar to me. The cuffs look padded but strong. "She knew what to expect, but, well, I think you might be new to this … Hmmm? … Still silent? Let's see what we can teach you."

I am panting uncontrollably now. He kneels and straps in first one ankle, and then the other. My feet are held firmly apart, my hands are tied securely above me, and my legs are spread wide.

He stands up and steps back, looking me up and down, just standing there, with his arms folded and his head tilted. Just looking.

"You are really beautiful, you know. With a figure like that, and your hair … What are you doing in a job like this?"

He comes close to me, almost but not quite, touching. I can smell him, warm and spicy, and I can feel his breath on me. I am longing for him inside me.

Carefully, and touching no other part of me, he reaches for and rubs my left nipple. The steam of my shower has cleared now and so I am cooling off. Under the influence of chill and arousal, my nipples are hard, crinkling with stimulation. He tweaks the nipple, smiles, and nods while "Hmmming" to himself.

He releases my nipple. Still touching no other part of me, he reaches down between my spread and dripping thighs. "You do like this, don't you?" Carefully—oh, so carefully—he touches my clit and delicately rubs it.

This time there is no escaping it, I moan uncontrollably and gush. My knees give way, but this time he does not support me, and my weight drops onto my tied wrists. I stagger upright, hobbled by my cuffed ankles. As soon as I am upright again, he repeats it, this time rubbing my clit a little harder.

I gasp and cry out as my knees buckle again.

"Good thing I put on that music," he says, as I pull myself upright again. "Don't want anyone outside hearing you yelp like that. But it's nice to know that you can make noise." He pulls quickly at my clit this time and then massages it for a moment. This time he holds me by the waist as my legs give way.

"Don't want you hurting yourself in your enthusiasm," he whispers into my ear. "Tell me, what would you like to happen next?"

I am almost beyond reason. "I want … I want …" I can't get the words out. I can't bring myself to speak them.

His fingers make lazy circles around my clit and I gush again. I am frantic for something inside my pussy, but nothing is forthcoming.

"What do you want? You have to tell me." He now holds me very tightly, supporting my weight—my God, but he’s strong. My legs are like string, but he takes my weight without effort.

“You have to tell me," he repeats. His fingers continue flicking and kneading my clit.

I am about to come, and I feel myself reaching the plateau. And he stops.

Still holding me by the waist, he takes his hand away. "You have to tell me what you want before it goes any further. I won't let you come until you tell me what you want me to do."

His hand slips between my thighs again and quickly, ever so briefly, his fingers stroke across my pussy; my lips are swollen, engorged, and sodden, and they pulse as one finger strokes between them and then withdraws.

I am almost frantic with lust. "Let me cum. Let me cum," I say.

"What do you want me to do?" His breath by my face is like a promise.

"I … I … I want …"

"You have to say it …" He kneads my clit quickly between two fingers, sending electric desire pulsing up through me. "You have to say it," he repeats. "You don't get it without saying it."

I surrender. "I want you inside me." If I wasn’t tied and supported, I would collapse entirely. "I want you inside me."

He doesn't move. "That's better," he whispers into my ear. "You have to do better than that if you want to cum, but I can give you a little more now …" He slides a finger inside me, his thumb over my clit, and begins to work me. My climax, which had subsided a little, begins to build again immediately. He feels it. "Oh, no," he chuckles. "Oh, no, it doesn't work like that." His fingers withdraw. "What do you say?"

My mind blanks for a moment. Is he serious? What do I say? But my tormented clit and my aching pussy, brook no argument. "Please," I mumble.

"That's better." His finger brushes over my pussy lips. "But, 'please' what?"

I gasp and moan, writhing in my restraints and his grasp. "Please make me cum. Please fuck me. Please. Please fuck me."

"Now we've got there."