DOM DIARIES : THE CHASE: A Billionaire searches for love.
Page 15
That’s the legacy I leave behind.
Sated bodies and broken hearts.
What intrigued me about the DOM/sub lifestyle is the rules. I was sick of the hang-up phone calls and tear-streaked women showing up at my house at all hours of the night. I wanted a sexual partner who would understand the arrangement between us would be painful pleasure. Nothing more.
But even that got old.
I’m running out of things that make me feel, even if only for a fleeting speck of time, craving anything other than the dead sea living inside my chest.
Now it’s the hunt of innocence that drives me. Owning it, bending it to my will, conquering virginal women until they are trembling for me, needing only me to fill their greedy, tight pussies.
For that first moment when they sigh in pleasure feeling my huge cock thrust in and out as I rut, making them come—I feel like the gods my father says our ancestors were.
“Christos?”
“George. Make sure my house in Capri is also equipped.”
“Yes, sir. May I assume, that I can dispose of Ms. Fiona’s things?”
“That should have already been done. I disposed of her months ago.”
“Of course, sir. My apologies. I’ll make sure the house is fully ready for your new mistress.”
“Buy her the best. Spare no expense. I’ve emailed you a list of her preferences from food down to toiletries. She’s an American, size six. I want her dressed in nothing but French silk and Valentino heels. I want my playroom fully sanitized and all the toys replaced.”
“It will be done.”
I hung up with a satisfied grunt, half-hard at the thought of my golden beauty in ivory lace and heels, ass cheeks spread and waiting. It’s been six months since I was done with my ex-sub, Fiona. I’m not a man to jump from one pussy to another. I select them carefully, curating them, finding the perfect ones to sink deep into. Unlike Alex, where anyone will do.
It took me six months to find my next potential sub, and I won’t let her slip through my fingers. The golden hair and skinned American must have a perfect ripe peach between her thighs. One whose juices I can’t wait to taste.
Picking up my phone again, I called the second person alive—outside my medical staff—who knows my secret.
“Christos?”
“Is she there?”
“Yes. She arrived thirty minutes ago.”
“You know what to do.”
“Your instructions were quite clear.”
“Good. Stay away from her.”
“She’s not my bloody type.”
“Oh really?”
“Sod off, you wanker. You bloody well know where my tastes lie.”
I did. And his fiancé was far from the type he preferred. Alex often went for men as much as women. I’d feel bad for him if I had the ability. Helena won’t put up with being made a fool by Alex’s indiscretions. She’s a calculating, cold fish. Appearance means everything to her wealthy Greek family. Her’s dates back almost as far as mine. She’s going to have Alex’s balls locked in a vise. Day two of their marriage.
I met Alex decades earlier at an exclusive boarding school for boys in Scotland. It was a harsh, cruel, and rigorous place, but I excelled at all those things. Alex grew up just as privileged as me but attached to his nanny’s breast until his father had enough of his cosseting and wanted Alex to be raised to be a real man.
The two of us were the school’s misfits. We forged the most unusual alliance that remains unbreakable today. I helped Alex cope with the brutal life at school and he, in turn, taught me how to blend in…how to pretend to be alive on the inside. The two lost boys became powerful men, still looking out for one another like brothers.
“Make sure no one touches her.”
“Bloody hell, fine. But I might need to relieve myself of a few urges. Your yacht in the middle of the Med is the perfect location to do just that.”
“Fine. No cameras, no real names…our secrets must remain, our secrets,” I had replied in low, clipped tones.
“I know, Christos. I’ll take care of her.”
“The bloody hell you will.”
“I’ve never heard you this excited to get your hands on a woman. If I didn’t know better, I’d think there was a heart beating inside that ice box chest of yours.”
“Not a chance in hell of that. It’s still a black hole.”
“I envy you. You’d be better off marrying Helena than me. Christ, that woman scares the shite out of me. I’m going to get so shit-faced on our wedding night—I’m hoping to get whiskey-dick for the first time in my life. Christ, maybe I’ll dip into one of the bridesmaids just to get laid on my wedding day after all.”
“If you do…it would be no one’s business but yours.” I keep his secrets and he keeps mine. “I have some business to attend to in Athens. I’ll take the Heli and land aboard, at the end of next week. The wedding’s when again?”
“At the end of the summer. Christ, I can’t believe she bought the story I gave her about helping you set up an international office in Capri for your company.”
I grunted into the phone, as I listened to him bitch.
“I’m going to make the most of my last months of freedom. By the way—thanks for letting me crash on your yacht. I’ve already ordered twins—from Brazil.”
“Have your fun, but make sure it’s over by the time I arrive.”
“Will do mate. But I can’t believe you won’t be indulging in my pussy party. That Yank must be one sweet little piece.”
My eyes dropped to the candid photo of her my PI snapped and pinned to her file. “She will be. My instincts have yet to fail me. She’s ripe. Hasn’t been touched in over a year. She’s one of those relationship types.”
“Bloody boring if you ask me.”
I smirked. Alex loves filthy, dirty whores who don’t mind being double stuffed often while he alternates between a man and a woman in the same bed.
He knows not to even think about me in that way. But I’m immune to it all anyway, almost bored by his orgies. My tastes are the opposite of his.
Young.
Inexperienced.
Virginal.
I get whatever glimpses of pleasure I can by being the first to seduce them into our dark world. After that, Alex benefits from the fruits of my labor. I’ve passed many girls on to him when I’ve gotten bored. But this one—something tells me this one; I might not ever share.
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