Sadistic Master Bundle (BDSM Billionaire Erotic Romance)

by Dalia Daudelin

  He turned to me and whispered softly into my ear, in what must have been the only ten second period of quiet: "Do you mind me doing this, babe?"

  I shot him a glare, but after that flash of annoyance I let my eyes lock on the screen and I shook my head imperceptibly. He got the message and dove in. His subtle dance stopped and his hand lifted my skirt as his face broke into that stupid grin of his. I couldn't help thinking that if the theater weren't so empty, anyone sitting next to us wouldn't have had to look closely to figure out what we were doing; they'd have had a front-row seat.

  My panties were out. Anyone who wanted to see them just had to turn their head. Travis had turned to look at me now, rubbing furiously through the thin fabric. I could feel myself getting a little woozy; I wanted him. I wanted this, even as what little of my mind shouted that I needed to stop at all costs. I was completely lost to the world -- the manager could have come in and told us to leave and I'd have spread my legs a little further.

  Travis pushed aside the crotch of my panties and started to rub against my slit directly. I slumped lower in my seat and pushed against them, but he pulled away.

  "Ah-ah, not yet, little girl."

  I tried to fight for a moment to keep my wits about me, not to give in, but it was a losing battle as I felt his soft fingers probing me. "Please, Travis. Please."

  He unbuttoned the top button of my blouse. "Please what?"

  "Please make me cum, Travis." I was ashamed of how far I'd fallen, but there was nothing I could do any more.

  Another button came undone. My bra was almost out at this point. I couldn't be seen like this, absolutely could not, but Travis just pushed me again, pulling his fingers away from my waiting pussy.

  "What will you do for it?"

  "What do you want, please don't stop."

  "Offer me something," he said. My face screwed up in delicious agony.

  "I don't know Travis, just don't stop, PLEASE."

  His hand unbuttoned another button. I had one button left, barely holding my blouse together. For all intents and purposes, I was naked in the theater. If one of the four or five other patrons turned around, they'd see everything. My reputation, what little bit I still had, would be ruined. But that wasn't a problem any more.

  "Do you want me to fuck you?"

  "Mmmm," moaned, trying to grind against his ever-elusive fingers that teased without ever providing relief. "We shouldn't."

  Travis smiled and pulled my bra up, freeing my hard nipples to the hot movie theater air. "I want you to get up and sit on my cock, Jen. Do that, and I'll let you cum."

  I looked at him, the pleasure plain to see on my face.

  "Please, Travis, we shouldn't. It's a bad idea, please."

  "I want you to get up," he said, tugging on a nipple and then sucking it into his mouth. "And I want you to sit on my cock. Is that clear, Jenny?"

  I bit my lip. "Yes."

  I got up and pushed my ass into his lap; Travis rubbed himself against my pussy, a rough teasing that brought out the worst in me.

  "Do you want me?"

  "Please, Travis, I need it, stop teasing me. Please."

  He pulled me down onto him, finally pushing inside. I gasped out loud at the feeling of fullness, the feeling I'd been missing for weeks. I could feel his cock probing depths that fingers could never reach, a feeling that couldn't be duplicated in spite of my best efforts.

  I ground against him, feelings that I had denied stirring in me again. I knew that I shouldn't believe a word he had to say. I knew that he was just going to use me again, just going to slip up again -- but I couldn't help myself. I needed this -- I needed a cock in me. I needed to be used like a whore. I bounced on his cock, my tits swinging freely in the open air.

  I could tell that the people below us, presumably there to enjoy the movie, could hear. There was no way they couldn't. But I couldn't stop any more. I needed Travis's cum and I was going to get it.

  "Travis," I moaned. He took a fistful of my hair and tugged with just enough force to get the job done. "Cum in me. I need it. Please!"

  He didn't reply, pounding away at me from below. I could feel my orgasm approaching fast, a blinding sensation like I was moving a million miles an hour. I could barely see the screen, still playing in front of us. I couldn't hear the sound of my husky breath, even though I knew I was breathing raggedly. The only thing I could feel was my pussy, where we were connected. And then the world exploded.

  Travis pushed up into me one last time, pushing me off at the last minute.

  "Turn around, let me cum on you," he said, desperation and arousal putting a razor's edge on his voice.

  I did as I was told and was met with a rope of warm cum hitting me in the face. And then another. Another fell on my blouse. For a second, I was angry. But more than that, it turned me on. I could feel the warmth spreading through me again, the warmth of arousal. He pulled me back up and pulled me close, whispering again in my ear:

  "Leave it like that."

  I shivered in arousal. He guided me out of the theater, the film still in the middle of a bombastic final battle. I could feel his cum on my face; I could see everyone's eyes on it, there on my face. I wanted to hide, but Travis kept his hand on my arm the entire way. In a sense, I was mortified, but that was part of the appeal. It was incredibly hot. The way I felt, I would have gotten right on my knees and sucked him off in front of the ticket booth, but I didn't. He drove me back to my own car, and I went home alone again.

  I could feel a pit of loneliness, but at the same time I knew that it was what I'd asked -- even if getting fucked raw and walking around with cum on my face wasn't, and had been so nice. Maybe he did know how to respect a woman's boundaries.

  I got home and pulled a beer out of the fridge. I pulled my shirt off, throwing it in the hamper. I was getting ready to get in the shower when I heard a demanding knock on the door. I called out from the bathroom that I wasn't decent.

  The voice I heard made a chill run through my chest: "Jen? It's Jacob Stone. We need to talk."

  Four

  I don't know how I did it. I look back on the weeks since I was kicked out by Mr. Stone, and I can recount all the things that happened – I remember applying for a job, I remember talking to his assistant and being given an advance on my paycheck to get a small studio apartment, slightly larger than a closet. I remember my first day of work. I can almost remember what I ate for breakfast every day, even, but the actual reality of it seems distant. As if I'm dreaming.

  Then again, so do the months I spent... working for Mr Stone. As if I've just been waiting to wake up back on the cold, hard ground with mats in my hair and ratty, destroyed clothing. I can't really wrap my head around any of it, and every time I wake up in my bed, with the full closet and food in the fridge, I am confused by it.

  I got a job in the only place where I can do any good, and I suppose that did have some advantages. The gleaming white walls at Benny's remind me of who I was before Daddy moved on and that bitch took all the money. But somehow it's not the same. I don't feel at home, like I had when I was still in high school. The walls feel foreign, even after all this time. I feel like sooner or later, it's inevitable -- someone will realize what a mess I was.

  I didn't think about it, but I wouldn't have minded not waking up one morning. I found myself feeling that way a lot, but I just brushed it off. I'd been jilted twice, by people who I relied on. It was only natural that I would feel bad for a while, but unlike the first time, I had something I could do about it now. I could keep my head down, and eventually, the feelings would just go away. That was what I hoped, anyways, and I was pretty sure I could manage it.

  I felt particularly bad this morning; I had stayed up a little bit late watching movies on cable; I didn't have a special interest, but the easiest way to make the pain go away was to slip into a routine, and that was one I was trying on for size. It didn't even seem to matter that I had work in the morning at the time, but when the alarm went off at 6:
30, it suddenly seemed like it mattered so much more than it had the night before.

  My manager smiled at me; she was a fake bitch, but so was everyone here. It was part of their charm, that you could always be sure that no matter how they really felt about you, they'd fake it. It was an unspoken rule, and I liked the feeling myself. It was easier to put on a plastic smile and run through the same scripts behind the makeup counter than it was to deal with everything.

  I made myself look busy, rearranging bottles that didn't need it, until I thought she was gone. Only, when I looked up, feeling the bags under my eyes dragging at my face, she was still standing there. She wasn't watching me, so I relaxed for a second, until I saw what had distracted her. Coming through the door was trouble, with a capital 't'.

  Cathy knew him, of course. The other secret, other than how fake it all was, was how small the New York socialite scene was. Cathy had grown up with me, though she was a few years older. And she'd grown up with Travis, too. I try not to think about what she thought when I stopped showing up at social functions. It helps me sleep at night.

  "Jen, I can call security."

  "It's fine. Just keep an eye on him, I'm sure it's fine."

  Cathy gave me a look out of the corner of her eye.

  I wondered what he wanted, but even more than that I wanted to give him a piece of my mind. That was what I was thinking at the time. But then I saw his clothes. It wasn't anything you could buy here, not even if you were fucking the head of acquisitions. Too expensive. You can't smell money on a man, but you can see it. Travis had always had that look, and that hadn't changed. And I was starved for some sort of escape from this place, from these people.

  I could feel my cheeks pulling into that plastic smile, the one that showed my teeth. It had taken most of two weeks before I was sure enough of my teeth to flash a grin like that again, but it had been helpful to say the least. The smile was a shield I could use. On the street, you needed to be afraid all the time, defensive. Had to keep people away from you, physically if necessary, or that was when they'd get you.

  But in a place like this, what you needed wasn't a physical shield. It wasn't to fight. It was to convince everyone around you that you won't fight at all. That was the shield that the smile gave her, gave them all. In reality, the world of millionaires was more vicious than any street. It was just plastered over with a facade of respectability, and the rest of the world just bought it.

  He walked up with a confident swagger that he'd learned in high school and perfected in college. It helped him with everything. Business partners liked it; it inspired confidence to be dealing with someone who thought he had nothing to worry about. People want to believe there's nothing to worry about, and Travis knew how to tell people that everything was just fine. He had even fooled me for a long time.

  Girls like it because it communicates, quietly, that he's not a project. He already knows who he is, he already knows what he wants. There's an animalistic quality to it, like a pheromone. The walk says what you need to know about the man. His face seals the deal, and his body was a happy surprise, hard-packed muscle that fit into a slim suit; with his clothes on, he looked like he had an average-sized body, but with his clothes off he looked like some kind of God.

  Once upon a time, I had thought that that God was mine. But I had learned my lesson the hard way, and I tried to remind myself not to make the same mistake again.

  If I thought that Cathy had my best interests at heart, I was a fool. She nearly tackled him like a lioness on an antelope you see on the nature channel. She played the manager there to help her customer, but I could see that she was practically humping his leg. Maybe I wasn't as over him as I'd thought. He still felt like my property, and I could feel the pit of hot anger burning in the bottom of my stomach as I watched them.

  Then something happened that I didn't expect, and that's where things always went wrong for me: Travis didn't look at her, hanging her tits out. He barely slowed down. He pantomimed a wave and kept walking. His eyes barely left me, even as I pretended not to watch. I could feel my jaw hit the floor even as he was walking up. I barely managed to get my composure when he put his hands on the counter, spread in a wide, confident pose.

  As if I wouldn't be mad, as if he had nothing to apologize for. And then I looked at his face again. The grin was gone; it seemed so genuine that it was hard to remember that he was the same as all of us. He had practiced that look in the mirror for hours and now it was so effective that when he used it on me I didn't realize it was just a front. But now, as he let it slip, slowly, I saw how tired he looked. How sad. I almost felt bad for him.

  "Jen..." He started, but he didn't finish the sentence. He looked down at the counter.

  "Speechlessness doesn't suit you, Travis." I was angry, and defensive, and a thousand things swirling all at once. But my voice sounded tender, teasing. It was an odd sound, to say the least. "Why did you come here? I thought we'd said everything we had to say to each other. Or did you come to tell me how great things have been since I left?"

  "No..." He paused, his shoulders shrugging up. His posture sagged even further. I hadn't seen him like this... ever. I couldn't think of a single time that I knew to a certainty he was this upset. "Not really."

  I tried not to let the pity get to me. If he wanted my forgiveness, he'd have to say it, and then he'd be lucky to get it.

  "Well things have been great for me. I've met someone, Travis, so if you came to me begging for me to take you back, that's not going to happen."

  He looked up, tired lines criss-crossing his face, like a slept-in suit. He looked deflated, utterly.

  "Is that true, Jenny?"

  My lips pursed involuntary. I couldn't really tell any more what the truth was with Jake.

  "It's complicated."

  He regained some semblance of control of himself. I could see it; he had taken it as a 'no,' and the truth was, that's what it was. He got taller, got younger.

  "Please give me another chance. I've changed, you'll see. I swear, you'll see."

  I'd heard this before. I'd seen him do this before, though never this completely. I couldn't believe that he could fake his despair this well, but at the back of my mind, I remembered all the times I'd heard that he'd changed before.

  "I've been clean and sober for a month. I haven't seen Sheryl in... I don't remember. A month? More? I missed you, but I know I don't deserve your trust. I know I have to earn it. But please, give me a chance."

  I tried to say no. I tried so hard, but it seemed so genuine, all of it. I couldn't get it out of my head how upset he seemed, how much it seemed like he really regretted all the shit he'd put me through. I wanted to believe, and he was showing me every sign that he could, that he was being genuine.

  "Okay, listen, Travis. You need to go, alright? I get off at eight. Meet me outside and we'll talk. Okay?"

  I watched his face screw up in thought, and then he collected himself. He put his hands over his face, and when he pulled them away again the mask was back on. His shoulders straightened. It was an impressive transformation, and I almost had to admire it.

  "Eight? I'll be here." He looked me straight in the eye, his hawkish, predatory expression held tightly in place. It was what he did best, and even after years with him it still had just as big an effect on me. "I love you, Jenny."

  Cathy walked up, trying to play the part of the manager, but I shot her a look and she changed her posture. So that's how it was going to be, then. She pressed against me from the side, trying to ape conspiratorial friends. That was the one thing we would never be. "So what was that about?"

  I didn't answer her. Cathy could draw her own conclusions, and it would drive her nuts. That was the best part.

  The rest of the shift was a nightmare and a half. I think it was the single longest day I ever had at that job, and it was only half a day. I couldn't believe how nice it was to slip into my own clothes, pull on a T-shirt and jeans and just feel relaxed. Even if it was just for a
moment in the locker room, I tried to regain my composure.

  I need to keep my wits about me. Sure, he's cute. Sure, he's got a lot of money. But I couldn't afford to just accept whatever he says; I can't be that pushover again. I had learned when I'd seen him before how hard that was going to be, though. I needed all my composure.

  He was waiting outside, like I'd asked. It was unusual of him to respect my boundaries like that. He'd learned from business how effective it was to have the other guy off-balance, and he liked to use it to keep me in check as well. I think he thought it was romantic, and to a degree it was. It could be exciting, sexy. But it could be terrifying, too, when things went badly. I could never be sure which Travis I was going to get, but the one thing I could always be sure of was that it wouldn't be the way I expected.

  But not this time.

  This time, he was standing there like a screen from a romance movie, in his chic suit, a red rose in his hand, leaning against the white brick outside.

  "You ready to talk?"

  I could feel a tingling in my lips; I wanted to jump up and kiss him, to feel wanted again, but I know better. I kept my distance, the same way that I imagined that he was forcing himself to keep his. "What is there to talk about, again?"

  "Don't be coy, Jenny, please. It's not the time, just talk to me, okay?"

  "Fine; you talk, I'm listening."

  "I'm sorry I hurt you, and I want to make it up to you somehow. I'll do anything to show you that I've changed."

  "What did you have in mind?"

  I could see on his face what he'd had in mind, and I wanted to give it to him. But that was giving up, and for Travis, I had no desire to give up. I would push until there was nothing left. That was how I felt, anyways.

  "We could catch a movie, if that would be... interesting?"

  "What's showing?" I crossed my arms across my chest and looked up at him. It was always looking up with Travis, that was something that he was very careful to manufacture in every situation. I couldn't exactly blame him for it per-se, but after being alone for three or four weeks, I could feel it consciously. And I could remember how much it hadn't changed at all in the time since I'd seen him, more than a year ago.