Cocktails and Curves: A BBW Billionaire Romance

by Alexandrinha Abbott

  “What about tips?” I asked.

  “Just let me know the typical amount you receive in tips, and I’ll double that, too.”

  This guy was bananas. “Triple it,” I said.

  “It’s done,” he said. “Now let’s get out of here and get you something decent to wear.”

  To say that I was shocked was an understatement. If he was telling the truth, then I’d be able to pay off my student loans and indulge my fancy for macadamia nuts without getting off the couch. It seemed like a good deal. I reached out and shook his hand. “I’ll meet you out back in fifteen minutes,” I said.

  “Make it ten.” He spun on his heel and made his way through the crowd to the entrance while I went off in search of my boss.

  I found him in the back, trying to corner Sarah against the wall. “Sarah, are you okay?” I asked.

  “Sure,” she chirped. “I’m just fine.” She darted from beneath his arm and grabbed a plastic tray on her way out of the room.

  “Frank, something came up. I have to leave for the night. I’m sorry.”

  “Did the something that came up have to do with that guy in the limousine from last night,” he asked.

  “Of course not,” I said. “I’ll call you in a few days and let you know when I’m coming back. In the meantime, if I find out you did anything to hurt Sarah when I’m gone. Let’s just say you’ll be hitting those high notes like Mariah Carey.” I didn’t wait for an answer. John wasn’t the only one who knew how to turn on his heel and head for the exit without looking back.

  The limousine was waiting for me in the same spot where it had been parked in the wee hours of the morning before I knew that Mr. John Goldman was a mysterious billionaire who rubbed elbows with foreign royalty and kept a plush red carpeted den of iniquity in a locked and soundproofed room in his basement.

  The driver opened the rear passenger door, and I slipped inside. It was all very déjà vu.

  “Hello,” I said brightly to Mr. Goldman himself. “You look even more handsome in the bright light of day, if you don’t mind my saying so.” The prospect of never having to work for a living again had made me particularly chipper.

  “I am very glad to see that you are in a good mood,” John said. “I hope that it isn’t attributable to alcohol.”

  “What?” I asked.

  “Never mind,” he said. “I suppose you’re just happy about our new arrangement. I’m happy, too,” he smiled. “Shall we go back to my place, or would you like to go back to your place and change your clothes.” He scowled at my low-cut top and indecently short skirt.

  “You may be surprised to learn that all my clothes look like this,” I said merrily. “If you like, I would be more than happy to change into another outfit, but it would likely displease you just as much as this one apparently has. What’s your pleasure?”

  “You were much more docile last night, Annabelle,” John commented. “I’m not sure I like this side of your personality at all.” He glared sternly at me. “Perhaps we need to make an attitude adjustment.”

  “We shall see about that,” I said.

  “Take us back home,” John instructed the driver. “I’ll figure out what to do with you once we get there.”

  “That sounds like a great plan,” I said. “By the way, you do realize that my name isn’t Annabelle, right? I only mention it because you seem to keep calling me by your late wife’s name. Don’t get me wrong. She was a beautiful woman, but I’m not her.”

  “From now on, I shall call you Annabelle,” John said.

  “Okay, that’s great,” I said. “You’ve already got a pretty good head start on that. What shall I call you?” I teased.

  “I’m glad you asked,” John said. “I would prefer it if you called me Master. When we are in public, you may choose to call me Mr. Goldman or Sir. I find that John is far too informal, particularly given the difference in our stations.”

  “I see,” I said. For a moment, I wondered whether I was making a grave mistake going back to this megalomaniac’s mansion. I didn’t think he would harm me. So I simply needed to weigh calling him Master and wearing modest clothes versus working for a living and still being unable to pay the bills. “You did say you would pay me triple my salary and tips, right?”

  “That is correct,” John said. “If you like, we can have it put in writing so that you will feel more confident in our arrangement. Is that satisfactory?”

  I didn’t even know what our arrangement entailed. I supposed I could read more about it after John drew up the documents. “Yes, Master,” I said as I tugged on the hem of my skirt, trying to cover my thighs with the fabric. “That will be quite satisfactory indeed. May I ask you a question, Master?”

  “Yes, Annabelle,” he said. “You may.”

  “What did you mean when you said we would have spicy sex next time?”

  He laughed. “We can probably work out those details when the time comes.”

  Before long, we arrived at the gaudy marble mansion. It looked more elegant in the daylight, but it was less dramatic without the spotlights illuminating the imported marble. We disembarked, and we climbed the stairs to the large, ornately carved wooden doors. Unlike last time, Master had no need to press his palm to the glass pad that caused the door to swing open. This time, the door swung open from within.

  “Thank you, Glenda,” Master said.

  “You’re welcome, John,” came the reply. Apparently not every female on his payroll called him Master. The woman was dressed in a modest maid’s outfit. The starchy black fabric fell stiffly below her knees. Modesty appeared to be of the utmost importance to Master.

  I suddenly realized that I was already thinking of him as Master in my mind. It would be easier that way anyhow. Then I would be less likely to forget and jeopardize my triple salary plus tips.

  Master waltzed into the mansion, and I obediently followed him in my cleavage-baring outfit. He led me into a lavishly decorated bedroom with a walk-in closet. “I am certain that you will find something suitable to wear inside the closet,” he said, indicating the enormous double doors set into one wall. “I’ll leave you alone to decide upon a new outfit. Please come to the basement when you are through.”

  “Yes, Master,” I said, repressing the urge to lurch around the room like Marty Feldman in Young Frankenstein. I watched him retreat from the room and close the door before I opened the closet.

  Double rows of recessed lighting sparked to life automatically as I slid the pocket doors on their tracks. I could barely repress a gasp of surprise. The closet was bigger than my entire apartment. There were shelves and racks running around the perimeter of the room. Every article of clothing, purse, accessory and pair of shoes was organized by color.

  The center of the room contained a large island of cabinets containing drawers of various sizes. With my heart in my throat, I slid open a dozen drawers in rapid succession. There were silky panties, lacy bras and velvet-lined boxes filled with expensive jewelry. I pulled a pair of cream colored underwear from one of the drawers. It was sensual yet modest. The price tag still hung from the elastic waistband. This one pair of panties cost more than I earned in an entire night. Maybe I was letting him off easy with triple my salary plus tips.

  I stripped off my tacky cocktail waitress garb and slid into the silky panties. They were a perfect fit. I selected a full coverage bra in the same creamy silk and examined myself in the full-length mirror that stood in a corner of the closet. Then I chose a modest dress with a floral print. After biting off the price tag with my teeth, I slipped it on. Although there was no denying the quality, I felt like I had just joined a polygamist cult. The delicious curves of my body were all but hidden in the modest sheath. For the salary he was paying me, I would definitely get used to it. But for now, I felt like I was hiding my light under a bushel.

  When I failed to find the light switch, I slid the doors closed. The lights promptly went out. I exited into the hallway and found my way to the nearest elevator,
which just happened to be different from the one last night. I pressed the button for the basement. It was labeled with the letter D. Dungeon? I wondered.

  Within seconds, the metal box had deposited me onto the lower level, and my heart was threatening to leap from my throat or stop beating completely. I walked barefoot through the lush red carpeted hallway. Master was right. It felt good to walk barefoot on the soft carpet.

  When I reached the locked metal door, I raised my hand and knocked timidly. What was I doing? I had never done something timidly in my life. I raised my hand and knocked again, boldly this time. The door swung open silently and I stepped inside the room. It was exactly the way that I remembered it.

  Master rushed to greet me. “Annabelle,” he said. “You look lovely. This is a great improvement from those rags you were wearing earlier.”

  “Thank you for the clothes, Master. Did these belong to your wife?”

  “I’d prefer it if you didn’t ask questions without permission, Annabelle, but I will answer this one. No, those clothes are all brand new. The shoes, the purses, the jewelry and everything else in the closet were all purchased for you and delivered today. I am glad that you like them.”

  “How did you know my size?” I asked.

  He frowned. “Well, you are exactly like her,” he said.

  “Oh,” I said. “You’re not going to put me in handcuffs and suspend me from the ceiling by my wrists, are you?”

  “Only if you want to end up with a degloving injury or broken wrists,” he said. When my eyes widened in horror, he explained a bit further. “Annabelle, I won’t cuff you and suspend you from the ceiling by your wrists because that would be dangerous, and you would probably get injured. I am not one bit interested in causing you permanent bodily harm. Therefore, I would never suspend you, or anyone else, using handcuffs. Do you understand?”

  “No, Master,” I said.

  “When you have a predilection like mine, you need to know how to select the correct tool for the occasion. Handcuffs are not the correct tool for suspension. Now do you understand?”

  “Yes, Master,” I said.

  “To suspend someone safely from the ceiling, I would use suspension cuffs. Suspension cuffs are different from wrist cuffs, and wrist cuffs are different from handcuffs,” he explained. “You will learn more as we go along, but the truth is that you really don’t need to know much. I am in complete control. You only need to obey me, and you will be fine.”

  What have I gotten myself into? I’ve never obeyed anyone in my life. “Yes, Master,” I said.

  “I’d like to get you some other things like custom-made corsets, for example, but they are far from one size fits all. So I couldn’t get them prior to your arrival today.”

  “May I ask a question, Master?” I asked.

  “Go ahead,” he replied magnanimously.

  “How did you know that I would return today? You bought all those clothes and things without even knowing whether I would agree to come back.”

  “I knew, Annabelle. As you can see, I was right. Just to put your mind at ease, I don’t plan to do anything to you that you don’t agree to do. You may have heard about safe words in the BDSM community. I like to keep things simple. If you need me to stop, feel free to say ‘stop’ or ‘no.’ I don’t need you to shout ‘apple’ or ‘cucumber’ or anything similarly ridiculous. If you need me to slow down, then the words ‘slow down’ will suffice. Does that make sense?”

  “Yes, Master.” I knew that I should have been paying attention, but I found my mind wandering. Every time Master’s voice rose in a question, I simply nodded my head earnestly and said, “Yes, Master.” It seemed to satisfy his needs entirely.

  “You’re going to be spending plenty of time tied up and blindfolded,” he said. “I don’t use collars. You are not my pet, and I do not switch.”

  “Yes, Master,” I nodded energetically.

  “Occasionally, there will be things like crops and whips, floggers and the like. I don’t tolerate bratty behavior, but I would never abuse you, Annabelle.”

  “Yes, Master.” I nodded again. It was hard to keep my eyes open.

  “Are you listening to me, Annabelle?” he roared.

  I opened my eyes wide, startled. “Yes, Master.”

  “What did I just say?”

  “Are you listening to me, Annabelle?” I replied.

  He threw back his head and laughed. “This stuff is important,” he said. “You should be paying attention.”

  “I thought all I needed to do was follow your lead and I would be fine.”

  “Yes, you are correct. However, it’s still important for you to pay attention when I speak. I’m trying to tell you a little more about what it is that we do.”

  “What it is that you do, Master” I clarified.

  “Also,” he continued, “I don’t have a God complex or anything else you might be thinking.”

  “I wasn’t thinking anything, Master” I answered. It was almost true. My brain was nearly short circuiting from Master’s endless droning explanations, and I was ready for something a little more stimulating as long as it didn’t involve being strangled, ridden like a pony or having the flesh of my ample buttocks sliced open with a cane. Yeah, I did my Internet research after last night. Five minutes of it anyhow. I was too exhausted for anything else.

  “You’re obviously growing bored, Annabelle, and so am I,” Master said. “Why don’t you strip for me while I decide what to do with you.” He took me by the hand and led me to the satin covered bed. Then he sat on the edge and stared at me intently. “Take off your clothes,” he said.

  “Yes, Master,” I said, feeling like I was in an adult version of “I Dream of Jeannie.” I lifted the hem of my hideous new floral dress and raised it above my knees. Then I brought the hem higher, sliding the fabric upward along my bare thighs until my cream colored panties were exposed. Once I reached my waist, I began to lift the dress faster. My breasts, confined within their new brassiere, came into view. Then my face was covered. I didn’t like not being able to see Master. So I pulled the dress off quickly and dropped it on the floor.

  “Lovely, Annabelle,” he said. “Let me see those enormous breasts.”

  I reached behind my body and unfastened the cream brassiere. The edges snapped apart, relieving the pressure that my jumbo breasts exerted on the fabric of the bra. I dropped the silky garment on top of the discarded dress and stood there wearing nothing but my brand new panties.

  “Don’t forget the underwear. Lovely, Annabelle,” he said.

  Or was it lovely Annabelle? I wasn’t sure, but it didn’t make much of a difference. I took off the panties and stood there completely naked. My confidence was put to the test.

  “Please lie down,” he said. He stood and helped me onto the circular bed. The smooth satin was slippery and soft beneath my naked body. “Allow me to make you more comfortable.” Master lit a candle on a nearby table. Then he reached beneath the bed and withdrew four restraints that were tethered somewhere along the round bedframe. He fastened my wrists and ankles to the bed with surprisingly comfortable padded bands.

  “You would look lovely covered in hot melted wax,” he said. “I can imagine the heat on your flawless skin, making you turn bright pink in places. You would like it,” he said. “Is that okay?”

  “Okay,” I agreed meekly.

  “Okay,” he said. “There’s just something I have to do first.” He retrieved a black silk blindfold from someplace just out of my field of vision and covered my eyes with it. Like the cuffs around my wrists and ankles, it was surprisingly comfortable.

  Behind the soft blindfold, my eyes were closed. I felt the mattress shift as he climbed onto the bed, and I braced myself for the feeling of hot wax on my body. Instead, I felt his mouth between my spread thighs. His hot breath whispered along my flesh. Then his tongue separated my lips and ran along my crevice until it arrived on the most sensitive spot on my body.

  Master licked me sens
eless while I held my breath, occasionally reminding myself to breathe. I was grateful that I did not have to remind my heart to beat. If that were the case, I would never survive. Down below, in the place where his tongue was riding expertly over my moist heat, my flesh began to twitch and pulse. I threw my head back and groaned.

  He slipped a finger inside me, maybe two. Master didn’t stop licking my magic button while he probed my tight channel harder and faster. His movements were making my entire body tremble from my earlobes to my toes. It felt like I was going to wiggle right off the bed like a serving of JELL-O wriggling off a plate. Of course, unlike the JELL-O, I was securely tethered in place.

  I almost didn’t notice the difference when his tongue was replaced by his thumb. He used his hand to bring me to the very edge of climax, and I focused hard on letting the sensations take me over the edge when I felt hot wax dripping directly onto the delicate skin of one pink nipple.

  It didn’t take a second drop of wax for me to climax hard against the fingers and thumb that were pushing against me. I tried to push my thighs together, trapping his hand between my legs, but I could not. My legs were held in a wide angle by the restraint, and Master didn’t stop moving his fingers.

  I tossed from side to side to the extent permitted by my restraints. Another drop of wax met my nipple. Then a trail of hot wax moved downward over my belly until it reached my mons pubis. Although the restraints had started off comfortable enough, straining against them made them chafe my skin. It felt wonderful and terrible and terrifying at the same time, and I didn’t want it to stop, but I couldn’t take another minute of the sweet torture.

  “No,” I gasped. “Stop.”

  Master was true to his word. He stopped immediately. His fingers left my womanhood aching and needing to be filled and touched again, and I smelled the distinct odor of a candle that has been extinguished. When he removed my blindfold, I smelled the scent of my essence on his hand. “Is that what you meant by spicy?” I asked.

  “Try not to ask so many questions,” he scolded, but he was smiling. “With you, Annabelle, everything is spicy.”