by Linnea May
Neither did I, a voice inside my head exclaims. And yet, here I am. Kneeling naked in front of a man who looks like the perfect office slave yuppie. But looks can be deceiving. More and more, I am beginning to think that there is more to him than the used up presumptions I had when I first saw him.
“Look up,” he orders. “I know you want to.”
“Yes, Sir.”
This feels like a victory. I smile as I slowly raise my head, scanning every part of his naked body as I do. His toned, long legs, up to his center, where he sports his impressive, half erected cock.
I cannot help but pause for a moment when I see it. Gorgeous. It is intimidating how perfect this man is - all the way down to his member, that causes me to gasp even when it is not fully awake. Straight, clean and with a remarkable girth that is proportional to its length. I can literally see it growing under my eyes. Whatever I am doing, whoever I am - he is enjoying it.
“I am up here,” he reminds me, smirking like a proud little boy when I finally raise my eyes up to his, following his buffed upper body. He is not as hairy as I expected. Only a very faint but dark fluff decorates his toned chest.
“You want to play with it, don’t you?” He asks, standing in front of me with his hands behind his back, like a soldier.
I nod. “Yes, Sir. Very much.”
“Well,” he says. “Unfortunately, it will be up to me to decide whether I let that happen.”
And before I have a chance to object, he produces a blindfold that he has been hiding behind his back.
I pout when he puts it on me - which, I am sure, does not go unnoticed by him. The world darkens around me and I remain still, awaiting his next move while he observes me. I cannot see him anymore, but I can feel his eyes on me, keeping me in place and causing me to breathe heavily with anticipation.
I flinch when I feel his hands on my shoulders.
“Get up,” he whispers.
“Yes, Sir.”
I stagger back up on my feet, supported by him as my sense of balance is distorted by the blindfold and the fact that I have been kneeling for quite a while.
He gently guides me towards the bed. “Lay on your back.”
I do as I am told, feeling utterly exposed and safe at the same time as I place my naked body on the soft sheets.
“Hands up,” is his next command.
He grabs my left wrist as soon as I comply and puts something around it. Leather it seems. A leather handcuff. It closes with an audible sound and - judging from the sounds I hear - appears to have a small chain attached to it that he fastens at the bed post above my head. He continues to do the same to my other hand, so that both my wrist are tied to the bed posts on either side of the bed.
I am helpless, naked and instinctively try to cover myself with my legs as good as I can. Of course, there is no point in doing that, but I cannot help it. For the time, I feel something like fear spreading through my body. Joining, but not replacing the excitement from before.
“Do you trust me?” He asks.
“I have to, don’t I?” I reply.
He chuckles. “Sassy girl. Spread your legs.”
I feel the blood rushing to my cheeks as I contemplate that order. Spreading my legs would be opposite of what I am doing right now, as I am pushing my thighs against each other, trying to expose as little as possible of my most intimate body parts.
“Now!” He snaps - and I comply.
I open my legs with one sudden movement, following the commanding sound of his voice.
“Good girl,” he praises and pets my head.
He moves between my legs and watches me as I subtly convolve under his eyes, moving my hip from side to the others, my legs twitching as I fight the urge to close them again.
He places his hands on the inner side of my lower legs respectively and slowly moves them upwards, closing in on my trembling center. My breathing accelerates uncontrollably. I yearn for his touch. I want to feel him between my legs again. His wonderful fingers caressing my…
Yes! A desperate moan escapes my lips when he reaches my wet entrance. He doesn’t hesitate one moment to spread my folds and move another finger between them to gently massage my nub of pleasure.
And what kind of pleasure! The anticipation, the long build up has made me so tense, I instantly start to shiver with lust when he starts touching me. He hums with approval. “Good girl.”
I yank on the cuffs around my wrist as I start to struggle, convolving under his touch, desperate with lust and so incredibly hungry for more, for him. I want him inside me.
“What do you want?” He asks as if he could read my mind.
I bite my lower lip, fully aware of what the answer should be, but too embarrassed to actually say it.
“What. Do. You. Want?” He repeats, now inserting his finger and underlying each word with a brute, delicious shove inside me.
I catch myself leaning into him. My entire body is begging him to fuck me - why do I need to say it out loud.
Because that is what he wants. And it is what I need to give him to get what I want.
“I want you to fuck me,” I breathe. Low and hoarse.
“Louder,” he says.
Oh, for god’s sake.
“I want you to fuck me!” I yell. “Please, Sir! Please fuck me!”
My cheeks are burning, just like the rest of my body. Lust and embarrassment are forming a toxic team that takes over my entire body and mind.
He removes his hand from my fiery center. I hear plastic ripping - a condom package, I assume.
“You are such a good girl,” he exclaims before I can feel the tip of his hard cock at my entrance. “You deserve this, you truly do.”
I arch my back, inviting him in. But he needs no more invitation and begging. With one forceful push, he spreads me apart, easily sliding inside my wetness as I moan beneath him.
I wish I could see him, but my vision is still concealed. He bends my legs and pushes them up to my chest to gain more leeway as he starts fucking me.
He is big and stretching me good with every single one of his brute thrusts inside me. The pain is causing me to wince and cry. But soon, those cries turn into outbursts of release and lust as I take him in.
I want to touch him, to see him - and neither is possible, because of my restraints. It drives me mad.
His thrusts intensify, growing faster and deeper with every moment that passes. I feel my orgasm approaching, already.
“Close your eyes!” He orders.
“Why?” I blurt out. I am already blindfolded - what is this about?
“Do it!” He adds, fucking me extra hard to underline his command.
I do as I am told. And just a moment later, I come to understand his demand.
He removes the blindfold from my eyes and even though the room is not brightly lit, my eyes do need some adjusting, coming from complete darkness. I carefully open them and finally see him again.
He is smiling down at me, his buff chest glistening with a hint of sweat. He is still holding my legs up, entering me as deep as possible with every shove.
I can feel my entire center clenching around him, edging him on.
He leans forward to kiss me, his tongue invading my mouth while he continues to fuck me mercilessly.
“I’m gonna c-”
“Oh, yes you will,” he interrupts me.
He straightens up and moves his right hand towards my center.
I let out a cry of lust when he starts rubbing my clit while shoving his beautiful, rock hard erection inside me.
“You are going to come,” he hisses. “Because I want you to!”
His words and his hand on my clit are all I needed. I groan and arch my back, throwing my head back as far as possible, as my orgasm claims control of me.
I come hard, my muscles clenching around him as if my body is trying to trap him, to make him stay there forever.
And he feels it. Through half closed eyes, I can see him lose control as well, as he finds his release ins
ide me. I cannot believe we are actually climaxing together, both moaning and groaning, insane with lust and release.
This has never happened to me before. Not like this. Not after I just met someone.
Then again, there have been a lot of firsts this night.
***
I return home the next morning, unsure what to tell Yuka. That I have had a one-night stand? It would not be the first, even after the short time we have lived together - though I am not proud to admit that.
But what happened between me and Evan last night appears to be so much more. The sex was so intense, so different, so intimate. As if I have known him forever.
After our first climax together, he untied my sore wrists and we took advantage of the whirlpool in his luxury hotel room. I was worn out, tired, but completely satisfied when he wrapped me in a soft, giant towel afterwards and - despite my protest - put me into bed next to him, where I dozed off in his arms.
There are so many questions I want to ask him. But he was unwilling to answer any of them. He hushed me last night, and he did it again this morning. He also insisted on his “No fights”-rule and ignored my protest when he called a car to take me home. Not a cab, no, a limousine.
“You don’t have to impress me anymore,” I joked as he accompanied me downstairs to the lobby. “We already fucked, remember?”
Of course, I managed to offend him with that. He turned around to me, granting me an unhappy face, frowning and sad at the same time.
And I actually felt bad for saying it shortly after, when he handed me a little card. Not a real business card, just a little note with his name and his number on it.
“It’s up to you now,” he said, as he sent me off.
Up to me. Again.
I try to be as quiet as possible when I enter the apartment. It is not even 10 am and both Yuka and I are usually still asleep at that time, if possible.
Much to my surprise she is already up, though. I find her sitting at our small kitchen table, reading a magazine and sipping on her first morning coffee.
She grins at me. “Good morning, party girl.”
“Good morning, bar slave,” I reply. “How come you’re up already?”
She rolls her eyes. “Brunch date with someone, who thinks that it’s okay to chase people out of the house at 11 am.”
“Mean,” I comment, as I pour myself a coffee.
“So,” she says after I sat down opposite of her. “How was it? Nice guy?”
I smile. “I wouldn’t say ‘nice’, but interesting and fun for sure.”
Yuka raises her eyebrows. “Ooh, that sounds intriguing! I’d pester you with questions, but I haven’t even take a shower yet and really need to get ready.”
Thank god.
“Have fun,” I say as she leaves the kitchen.
I languidly reach over the table to pull the magazine she was reading over to my side. Yuka is a sucker for the kind of women’s magazines that report about nothing but fashion, make-up and gossip about famous people, who I could care less about.
I never actually read anything in them, but they are a good way to kill time when there is nothing else to do than to drink my desperately needed morning coffee - and to get him off my mind. For now.
The night was too intense, too confusing and overwhelming. I have no idea how to handle this one. All I need is some distraction and time to myself.
In that regard, browsing through that ludicrous magazine was the worst idea I have had all morning. After just a few pages, I end up at the VIP gossip section, that is the least interesting area of all to me.
And there he is, smiling back at me.
Evan Beckhart - smart, handsome, rich, the eternal bachelor? The subject of a picture plastered article that belongs to a series about ‘The country’s hottest billionaire bachelors’.
It’s really him.
I almost drop my coffee mug as a cold shower of realization is running down my spine.
2 – Revealed
“So far, you have nothing but a faint idea
of what is possible between two people like us.”
CHAPTER I
Evan Beckhart - smart, handsome, rich, the eternal bachelor?
I cannot take my eyes off of the article. What a sneaky bastard! I had sex with one of ‘the country’s hottest billionaire bachelors’ - and I didn’t even know it at the time.
How could he not have mentioned this? Did he actively conceal it from me - or did he just expect me to know when he introduced himself? He could have used a fake name, after all. But he didn’t. He actively ran the risk of me knowing who he is.
I feel so stupid.
What a great triumph it must have been for him to see me so unaware. The stupid hipster club girl who has no clue.
Then again, I never really asked him what he is doing for a living. Not once. I just shared my silly assumptions and - as he called it - prejudices. And he prohibited any further questions by the time we went to the hotel.
The expensive five star hotel.
“Damn,” I whisper, still sitting at the kitchen table and staring down at the article.
“Did you say something?” I hear Yuka as from the hall.
Moments later, she appears at the door, tilting her head questioningly.
I hastily close the magazine and shake my head. “No. Just mumbling to myself.”
“What have you been reading?” she asks, accompanied by an evil smirk. “You look like you saw a ghost.”
In a way, I feel like I did. The shock and surprise would be equally strong.
“Nah, I’m just very… tired,” I explain.
Yuka shrugs and disappears back into the hall to get ready for her brunch date.
“Take a nap until I come back,” she yells. “I still want to hear about your date last night.”
“Yeah, sure,” I whisper absentmindedly.
As usual, she is in a hurry and storms out the door just a few seconds later, leaving me by myself with that confusing article.
I stare at the magazine in front of me, pondering whether I should read it. Maybe I really did see a ghost? Maybe it wasn’t him after all. I only looked at the picture for a few seconds - and he could have used this name to impress me. Maybe he just looked similar to this guy and used it to his advantage to seduce an unknowing girl like me.
I should at least check and make sure that my shock is justified. Or if I should forget about him and write him off as a pathetic and deceitful liar.
But how could he afford the hotel then?
Maybe he stole that guy’s credit cards, too. Maybe he is even a thief - a mobster, as I jokingly assumed when we were entering the hotel.
I have to know!
I take a deep breath and reopen the magazine, slowly browsing to the page that displays his article.
Evan Beckhart - smart, handsome, rich, the eternal bachelor?
I am prepared this time and don’t shy away as soon as his face appears in front of me. And yes, it is his face. There is no doubt about it. The guy I teased about being your average, boring office yuppie, the guy who somehow still managed to captivate me and lure me out of the club into his hotel room. The guy I have had one of the most amazing sexual experiences of my life with.
There is no doubt that it is the same man as the one who is the subject of this article. The picture of him appears to be from some kind of event for charity. He is dressed up to the limit, sporting an extremely well fitting black suit and a tie in steel blue that makes his dark eyes stand out even more. His hair is different, more organized and gelled to the side - but it is definitely him.
The article covers the entire page and there is a second photo at the lower end of it. It is much smaller than the other one and appears to be some kind of paparazzi picture that was taken of him and a woman as they left a coffee shop. He is holding her wrapped in his arm and tries to shield her from the photographer. Both of them are dressed casually.
I cannot help to notice that she bears a big re
semblance to me. She is not only pale and slim and wears her long, dark brown hair in an equally messy way as I do. She is even dressed in a similar way with rugged jeans and an oversized, cut off t-shirt. Her skinny arms are decorated with a bunch of wristbands in all kinds of colors - and tattoos. Rather nice tattoos, I might add.
That - and the fact that she is prettier than me - might be the only difference between us, because I have not gotten around to ink myself. Yet. It has been on my wish list forever, but I just couldn’t commit to a certain motive, let alone gather enough money for it.
As it is typical for these kinds of magazines, the subtitle to the picture is rather melodramatic: Did she break his heart? Sheila and Evan on a coffee run, only weeks before she disappeared from his life.
Disappeared? Did they break up? Did she die? Or did she actually disappear?
Curiosity gets the better of me and I start reading the article with my heart running wild behind my ribcage. Thankfully, the text starts with a brief introduction about the life and career of “mysterious billionaire bachelor” Evan Beckhart. Apparently he is a “geek turned successful entrepreneur from Silicon Valley” who had his breakthrough at an age when most people are attending college. He - or his small startup company - invented a widely used office software that even I have heard of, even though I never really worked in an office.
His company was acquired by a much bigger one a few years ago, and since then he has been steadily increasing his wealth by smart investments in promising startups that never failed to succeed. He really seems to have a knack for the young and upcoming technology market and has been making a lot of money by investing in social apps.
Even with my general aversion towards this glutted market of gadgetry and seemingly useless innovations, I have to admit that I am impressed. He certainly never had anything handed to him and worked hard to be where he is now. He also seems to be quite involved in charity activities and is described as living a rather frugal life despite his immeasurable wealth.
Well, he still lures his nightlife acquisitions into five star accommodations, so I would certainly disagree in regard to the “frugal lifestyle”.
If anything, he tried to be one of us last night, the low budget hipsters who live in crappy little apartments, that they could not even afford on their own and thus opt for shared living arrangements. Us, who have to think twice for every drink they allow themselves when they are going out.
