“Thank you, Master,” I said. I guess that was a compliment.
“Watch me strip,” he said.
“Yes, Master. That won’t be a problem.” I was still bound to the bed, and even if I wasn’t, the sight of this incredibly good-looking man taking off his clothes was far from a hardship.
Master unbuttoned his shirt slowly, freeing one button at a time from its designated hole until his strong, chiseled chest was exposed. He was magnificent, and I didn’t think I could ever tire of the sight of him shirtless as he shrugged the garment from his flawless body.
He unfastened his belt buckle and unbuttoned his pants while I held my breath and chewed the inside of my cheek nervously. Most men looked nothing like this in real life. If I had to dress like a Branch Davidian to enjoy his spectacular body, it was a small price to pay. He removed his shoes and socks gracefully, far more gracefully than I would have. Only a thin pair of silk boxers separated his body from my view.
To my surprise, he lay atop my restrained body while still wearing the silk boxer shorts. He kissed my neck and breasts, raining kisses everywhere on my overheated body except the places where little blobs of wax had congealed into hard little dots that pulled and tugged at my skin. I was dying for release.
“Maybe next time,” Master said.
“Pardon me?”
“I think I’ve had enough for one night.” He stood abruptly and released my wrists and ankles from their bonds. “Get dressed, and I’ll have my driver take you home. When I see you again, I’ll have the details of our arrangement worked out and committed to paper, including your generous salary.”
“Wait,” I said. “You’re not going to have sex with me?”
“Oh, I am going to have lots and lots of sex with you, just not tonight. I’ll leave the door unlocked. There’s a bathroom at the end of the hall. Please feel free to use it before you leave.” And then he was gone.
I was stunned as I rose from the bed and dressed. It wasn’t like I had not climaxed. Indeed I had and then some, but to just leave me like that when I thought we were going to—.
After I dressed, I made my way to the bathroom before taking the elevator upstairs. I felt defeated and dejected. I’m sure I was pouting as I headed for the door wearing my new outfit right down to the cream colored underwear. Just before my fingertips touched the doorknob, Master appeared.
“Lovely Annabelle,” he said. “It occurred to me that you might think I was being abrupt and rude. I want to assure you that was not my intent.”
His words helped to assuage the pain that was blossoming in my soul. Then he kissed me. It was a deep and soul-searing kiss that felt wonderful. I was deeply regretful when it ended, but I couldn’t complain.
“May I call on you tomorrow?” he asked.
“Call on me?”
“I’d like to visit your home and see where you live.”
“Um, okay,” I said. “It isn’t much, but you’re welcome to see it.”
“Excellent,” he said. “It’s a date, then. We’ll do something special afterward.”
“Great,” I said. “Thank you, Master.” I couldn’t wait to find out what he had planned.
Chapter 3
When I arrived home from John Goldman’s extraordinary mansion, complete with its basement dungeon and that satin-covered round bed, I was walking on air. We had made love for the second time, and the restraints and blindfolds had only made it more thrilling. My heart was still pounding with excitement, and I had my doubts whether my heart rate would ever return to normal again.
I unlocked my front door and floated into the house. The first thing I noticed was the flashing red light on my answering machine. I pushed the button, and my co-worker’s voice rang out of the machine like a bell. “Terry, it’s Sarah. Frank said you had to leave early for some kind of emergency. I hope that everything’s okay. Call me.” Sarah was a sweet girl. It was nice of her to check on me.
The machine beeped. Then Sarah’s voice started again. “Call me, Terry. I hope that everything’s okay, and you’re just being entertained by the handsome and mysterious billionaire with a fetish for women who look like his late wife, among other things. I’ll be waiting for details.”
There were several more missed calls, but Sarah had managed to keep her messages to just two. She was right to be worried. I was never late to work, and I never left early. Since meeting the fabulous billionaire John Goldman, I had done both in one day. At this moment, I had a feeling that her worry was tempered with pure, unadulterated curiosity. I had told Sarah all about my new billionaire acquaintance including all the kinky specifics. It was no wonder she wanted to know more. I couldn’t blame her.
The truth was that everything was fine. It was better than fine actually. How could I complain about a man who had made sweet love to me with and without hot melted candle wax, made me quit my job, demanded that I call him Master, insisted on calling me by his dead wife’s name and bought me an entire new wardrobe that filled a closet larger than my entire apartment? There was nothing to complain about. Maybe there was just one thing. Master was coming here to check out my apartment, and it looked like a cyclone had hit it. Housekeeping had never been my strong suit, and I didn’t know how I was going to start this late in the game.
I wasn’t a dirty girl by any stretch of the imagination, but I did consider myself particularly busy. Until recently, I worked as a cocktail waitress at a bar whose patrons appreciated my voluptuous curves and tipped generously as a result. My hectic schedule and upside down hours left me little time or energy to clean the apartment. Even now, empty pizza boxes, crushed diet soda cans, discarded napkins and rumpled clothing lay strewn accusingly on every surface from floors to countertops. Ordinarily, it didn’t bother me at all.
Had Master said when he would arrive? I didn’t think so. A good hot shower was definitely in order before I tackled the hot mess that was my humble abode. I headed into the bathroom and stripped down to my plus size birthday suit, ready to wash away all the stress and confusion that had become my life. There was no doubt in my mind that I had plenty of time before he made his grand appearance.
Traces of dried wax were still stuck to the tips of my breasts and formed a line that led to the top of my mons pubis, reminding me of the romantic interlude that I had enjoyed so recently. I sighed as I stepped into the shower, feeling ever so much like a teenage girl in love for the first time. However, I was not a teenager. At the age of thirty, I should be immune to such dramatic feelings as this. As I stood beneath the spray of hot water, I reminded myself that my feelings were nothing more than some sort of chemical reaction in my brain. I wasn’t sure exactly how it worked, but I was fairly certain that my infatuation was nothing more than hormones and pheromones or some wicked combination of the two.
I lathered up my hair, scrubbing the nape of my neck and behind my ears thoroughly before rinsing and repeating. Then I squirted a generous dollop of body wash with a heavy vanilla scent onto a natural sea sponge. I worked up the lather over my skin from the top down. By the time I reached my knees, I thought I heard the doorbell ring. Oh, heck! There’s no way that it could be him so soon.
I hurriedly rinsed the soap suds from my body and jumped from the shower, grabbing a towel and wrapping it around my body. My hand was on the doorknob before I realized that it might not be Master at the door, and it wouldn’t be a good idea to toss the door open in welcome to some unknown entity while wearing nothing but a towel that refused to cover my generous curves. I peeked through the peephole in the door. There was no one there. I sighed heavily and hoped there wasn’t a flaming bag of dog poop or something similarly unpleasant waiting for me on the other side of the door.
Curiosity got the best of me. Despite my reservations, I unlocked the door of my first-floor apartment and cautiously opened it a few inches. I didn’t see anyone, and I was about to close and lock the door when I saw a neat package lying on the doorstep. It could only be from Master. I grabbed the box, nearly
dropping my towel in the process, and retreated into the apartment with my booty, the package not my considerably curvy rump.
I couldn’t wait to see what was inside the package. Cleaning the apartment suddenly seemed very unimportant. I grabbed a kitchen knife to split the line of tape that sealed the top of the box shut. It opened easily and I parted the cardboard flaps without caring that my towel had drifted to the floor. Standing stark naked beneath the harsh lights of the kitchen, I looked inside the mysterious cardboard box.
The box contained metal clips that reminded me of clothespins, a red rubber ball attached to leather straps with metal buckles, some sort of stick with a long pink feather on top, silky red ropes, several tubes of scented lubricant and a huge silicone phallus. My lower body immediately flooded with heat. Ick. What have I become?
What is it with billionaires and bondage? I asked myself. Rich men and kinky predilections were becoming a stereotype, only in this case, the stereotype was true. Apparently my particular billionaire intended to tie me up with red ropes, stuff a rubber ball in my mouth, cover me in metal clothespins, tickle me with a feather and shove an enormous dildo inside my secret places. They’re not secret anymore, I reminded myself. I was simultaneously repulsed and intensely excited, mostly excited. My hands were shaking as I inspected the contents of the box.
Since I couldn’t even imagine doing housework after receiving a package like this, I decided to go to bed. I took the dildo and a bottle of lubricant with me for research purposes. Although it wasn’t nearly as stimulating as having Master with me, I discovered that the lubricant had the welcome effect of causing an undeniable tingling sensation in my nether regions when I applied it down there.
Once my body was sufficiently lubricated and tingly, I worked the head of the dildo into my opening. It was big and blunt. So I had to press firmly, moving it from side to side, before it would slide in on a glossy layer of pineapple scented lube. I licked my fingers. It was delicious. Feeling and smelling entirely too much like dessert served to turn my excitement up a notch.
With one hand, I drove the phallus in and out of my body while I caressed my plentiful mounds with the other. I thought about those wicked metal clamps and wondered where Master planned to use them. Then I imagined his face at the moment of climax and jerked my hips upward to meet the downward thrust of my new toy.
My body jolted with the power of my climax. I panted and choked as my insides gripped the length of the dildo and squeezed around the purple silicone while I pretended that it was Master filling me with the heat of his body.
When I finished, I felt a little embarrassed. I looked around guiltily as if I expected to see an audience watching my performance. Of course, there was no one there but me. I crept into the bathroom and washed off the dildo, leaving it leaning on the counter top to dry. Feeling guilty, I went back into the bedroom and climbed under the covers. I feel asleep almost instantly and enjoyed a dreamless slumber unencumbered by thoughts of silky red ropes and metal clothespins.
By the time I woke up, I was well-rested and refreshed. The apartment was still a shambles, but I figured all it would take was another shower and a cup of coffee before I was ready to tackle the mess. I washed and dressed before making a fresh pot of coffee. I had just started to sip when I heard footsteps on the doorstep. This time, when the doorbell rang, it was Master.
I opened the door a crack. “Good morning,” I said. “It’s nice to see you. Let me get my purse.” There was no way I was letting him see the mess that lay behind me. That would be just plain embarrassing, and I was already out of my comfort zone as it was.
“May I come inside, Annabelle?” he said, peering through the small opening between the door and the jamb. “We discussed my visit. I’m sure you were expecting me.” He didn’t seem like a man who was accustomed to accepting defeat.
“I haven’t really had a chance to clean the apartment,” I said doubtfully. “Maybe you could come back in a couple of hours.” I had a funny feeling that he was going to get his way.
“Don’t be silly,” he said. “I’m here now.” He hadn’t retreated an inch. If anything, he seemed to be moving forward by centimeters, growing closer and closer to the thin line that separated the doorstep from my undistinguished apartment.
“You didn’t tell me when you were coming,” I mumbled under my breath. I opened the door and allowed him to come inside, shuffling my feet as I followed him through the small living space. “I thought that I would have more time to prepare.”
“One should always be prepared, Annabelle.” He examined the small quarters with their decorative pizza boxes and other assorted refuse. When he faced me again, his nose was wrinkled. “You actually live in this pigsty?” he asked.
“It’s not that bad,” I protested.
“I respectfully disagree,” he said. “Here’s what I propose. You pack your bare essentials, and we have the rest of this slop shipped off to the landfill posthaste. Then you can move into the mansion where I can keep a closer eye on you and you can more easily access your new wardrobe. Also, I have a housekeeper on duty around the clock. You would have full access to her services. How does that sound?”
How does that sound? It sounded a bit bossy as usual, but it also sounded undeniably tempting. I could live in a mansion with a virtually limitless supply of cream colored underwear and shapeless dresses and all the chocolate covered macadamia nuts I could eat. Of course, I was merely speculating about the macadamia nuts, but it still sounded like a good deal.
“Sold,” I said. It would be nice to have a housekeeper. Master probably had a private chef, too. He just hadn’t gotten around to mentioning him yet. If not, he would probably let me get a pizza delivered, or I could just pay for it with the salary we had negotiated.
“I beg your pardon.” He looked at me quizzically. “Sold? What does that mean?”
“Yes, I will gladly move in with you. That’s what it means. I know that it’s sudden and everything, and it’s probably crazy, but I’ll do it. You only live once. Right?”
“Excellent,” he said. “Of course, you won’t be living with me exactly. We will be living in the same home, but you will have your own room. I can even arrange for you to have your own personal entrance and your own dedicated elevator if you like.”
“That seems a little odd. I will be perfectly happy to use the main entrance or the servant entrance or whatever. I don’t expect you to blast a hole in the wall and build me my very own means of egress. As for the elevator, I think I will prefer to remain on the main floor as much as possible. Otherwise, I could probably just climb into the dumbwaiter or slide down the bannister when the situation arises.”
“Your attitude isn’t as amusing as you might think. Fortunately, you have other assets. Nonetheless, I suggest you start packing so you can get out of these dismal surroundings as soon as possible. You don’t have a cat, do you?”
“No,” I said. “But I’ve been thinking about getting one.” It wasn’t true. I just wanted to see his reaction.
“You should probably rethink that. Did you get the package that I had delivered last night?” He studied me closely while he waited for my answer.
I could feel myself blushing furiously. “Yes, Master. Thank you for your kind gift.” I hoped that was the response he wanted. Words seemed inadequate to express my appreciation for such unusual gifts. It was the first time that a man had ever given me anything quite like them.
“You’re welcome. Before I go, may I use your bathroom?”
I remembered the big purple object that arrived in last night’s gift package and blushed a deeper shade of red. Even though I couldn’t see my skin turn crimson, I could feel the heat burning in my face. “Let me just clean up a little before you go in.”
“Don’t be ridiculous, Annabelle. How much worse can your bathroom be compared to the rest of this disaster area? Just point me in the right direction, and I’ll be on my way shortly so you can start packing.”
I poi
nted meekly in the direction of the bathroom and silently prayed that he wouldn’t see his kind gift air drying on the counter. Then I watched him disappear into the room and shut the door. After a few minutes, he emerged with an indecipherable expression on his face.
“I see you started without me,” he said. “It’s my fault really. I suppose I should have made that part of our arrangement clearer.”
“Well, you weren’t here, and I was missing you. Then I got the package, and it just seemed like the thing to do,” I explained. The heat in my face was almost unbearable. I felt like my head was going to explode from embarrassment.
“There’s no need to explain. As I’ve already said, I blame myself. Next time, I’ll remember to include a note, or perhaps you might consider exercising a little self-control.”
In addition to being embarrassed and more than a little confused, I began to grow angry. “I hardly think I need your permission,” I declared.
“You hardly think you need my permission to pleasure yourself?” he asked. “I beg to disagree, but don’t worry. I will make sure we get that in writing along with your salary and job description.”
“Job description?” I echoed.
“Yes, you will be collecting a salary. So I thought you might like to have a job description to go with it.”
“Does this job description include mandatory sex acts? I have no intention of being treated like a highly paid whore,” I said.
“No, we won’t include any mandatory sex acts, but we will include those that neither of us intends to perform just to be clear.”
“You’re an attorney. Certainly you know that something like this can’t possibly be legally binding.”
“I’m glad to see that you’ve taken an interest in my work,” he said. “You are correct. It isn’t legally binding. Perhaps we should avoid calling it a job description or a contract and simply refer to it as a list of guidelines. That may make you feel more comfortable. How does that sound?”
Cocktails and Curves: A BBW Billionaire Romance Page 4
