“Yes sir,” I answered, wishing beyond anything I had ever wanted in my life that I could touch myself, that Michael would touch my clit. I was utterly willing for him to do anything to me at all, just so long as he didn’t stop touching me. Instead of giving me release, he lifted me off of his lap, swinging me onto the bed on my back. I was breathless, pulling instinctively—and ineffectively—against the handcuffs on my wrists. Michael stood and stared down at me, that same slight smile curving his lips. He unbuttoned and unzipped his pants, letting them fall and taking out his cock again.
“Make me hard.” I struggled to sit up, and wrapped my hands around his cock, stroking him slowly to begin with, but then faster, looking up at him with all of my fear and desire and need. He started to stiffen, closing his eyes and leaning into my touch, and I ducked my head down, taking the tip of his cock just past my lips, licking and tasting him all over again. His cock hardened quickly, tightening in my hands, the tip beginning to ooze precum, when Michael pushed me back, away from him, onto the bed. “Do you want to earn the privilege of clothing?” I nodded, unable to speak. Michael spread my legs wide, plunging immediately into my pussy. I moaned, loving the sensation of him filling me up. I could feel my body yielding to the hard, fast thrust, the muscles of my inner walls letting him in deeper and deeper.
He began moving inside of me immediately, thrusting fast and hard as I tried to absorb what was happening to me, my mind moving slow like molasses. I cried out with desire and enjoyment so keen it was almost pain; I could feel the silk sheets underneath me as they brushed against all of the stripes on my legs and across my ass, I could feel Michael’s thick hard cock pounding into me, his balls hitting me with every thrust. I gasped when Michael’s fingers closed on my nipples, pinching and pulling them hard, the sensation so thoroughly unexpected that my brain couldn’t tell if it was pain or pleasure—it just knew it wanted more. I twisted my hips, pushing myself down on his dick, taking as much of him as I could, needing to feel him as deep inside of me as possible. I was arching, writhing, throwing my body around like a madwoman as Michael fucked me relentlessly. “Oh! Oh god, oh yes, oh please,” I cried, words without meaning, sounds I couldn’t control. I was almost sobbing from the intensity of everything happening to my body at one time. “Look at me, Solly.” I forced my eyes open, panting, trying to hold on to some measure of control. “You will come when I tell you to. Not before, not after. Understood?” I couldn’t think of words. I pulled against the handcuffs, needing the pain to give me enough strength to focus.
“Yes, sir,” I managed to say, not quite knowing what I was agreeing to. Michael reached down between our bodies and his fingers found my clit, rubbing it firmly, and I almost screamed, clamping down on the fast urge of my body to tumble over into orgasm. I couldn’t orgasm. Not yet. Not until I was told. Michael alternated the torture between my breasts and my clit, teasing me until I didn’t know how much longer I could put off my orgasm. I was biting my lip so hard I could almost taste blood, my pussy tightening around Michael’s cock, my breasts shaking, and my whole body rigid from trying to hold back my climax.
“Come for me, Solly,” Michael said, finally, and I moaned, a low, guttural sound, every muscle in my body tensing just a tiny bit more before my control broke and I was coming, crying out words I had no knowledge of, gasping and panting and shivering from the intense relief. Just as the waves of overwhelming pleasure began to subside, I felt Michael’s cock twitching inside of me, felt his cum flooding into me as he moaned long and low, closing his eyes as his face contorted in ecstasy. He thrust into me a few more times before finishing, breathing heavily and barely holding himself up. After several long moments, he reached out and unlocked the handcuffs, releasing my wrists. He gave me a little smile. “Prison life isn’t so scary now, is it?” I laughed, curling up on his bed, still catching my breath and feeling the aftershocks like electric dancing up and down my limbs. Michael climbed into the bed with me and wrapped his arms around me, kissing my neck lightly. I was so exhausted, so thoroughly satisfied, that I fell into a contented doze, safe with his body pressed against mine.
Chapter Five
I watched the port come into view, early-morning sunlight glinting off of the choppy waters. I could see a stretch of beach, a collection of industrial-looking buildings, hotels that looked like sugar sculptures coated in gold. Michael had checked on his computer to see if I had been discovered—if there was a warrant out for me. So far, there wasn’t anything. It was only a matter of time, ultimately. I would have to do what I could, find another way out of the country, keeping one step ahead of the government that rightfully wanted to put me behind bars. I smiled to myself, thinking of Michael’s way of acquainting me with “prison life.” The real thing, I was sure, would not be nearly as satisfying, as consuming, as our last night together had been. I took a deep breath, trying to frame my next moves in my mind.
Michael appeared next to me; he touched my shoulder lightly, giving me a pleasant smile when I turned to face him. “I know I’ve been much more of a mystery to you than you have to me, Katrina,” he said, standing close to me. We were coming in, rapidly approaching the docks. He took my hand in his and put a neat, well-designed business card in my hand. “I hope this will clarify a few things for you.” He gave me a quick kiss and walked away to his stateroom, smiling one last time as he left. I turned back towards the port, thinking about our strange fling, and looked down at the card. It read “Michael Sheldon, CEO Trask Industries, Founder ShelCo.” I stared at the complacent, fine lettering for a long moment. I had heard the name before. Michael Sheldon was a billionaire—notoriously private, with homes all over the world. He was almost a recluse, shunning the press even when he was involved in public causes.
I almost laughed, thinking in shock of the fact that I had had a tryst with a man whose reputation made him out to be exactly the kind of person that wouldn’t engage in any kind of fling at all—respectable, proud, and aloof. I shook my head, slipping the card into my pocket and making my way off of the deck, into the body of the ship. I would try and get out in the press of the crowd, minimize any chances of being seen and captured on tape. Even if no one was actively searching for me yet, it was best to avoid being conspicuous. As I gathered up my luggage, I laughed out loud, sitting down on my bed and remembering the way he had dominated me from the very beginning. I would likely never see him again, but if I ever met someone I could confide in, this voyage would make a hell of a story.
Ashley Spector
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