Bought By The Billionaire

Ross drops Richard back at the office, then helps me pack my small number of possessions into the car—a few clothes and
personal items, my steam-driven laptop, and my books. None of the furniture is mine, and I wouldn’t want it in my lovely new
apartment anyway. When we return to the apartment block, with Ross staggering slightly under the weight of a cardboard box full
of books, the concierge gives me a key. I notice that he is wearing a fresh shirt and is now sitting upright and alert at his desk.
“You’ve given me the wrong one,” I say. “This is for 127A. Mine is 47A.”
“That’s the one Mr Haswell said I was to give you.”
“Oh. Right.” Puzzled, I take the lift to the twelfth floor, Ross following me.
The twelfth-floor apartment is amazing. High above the city, the gorgeous park view is below, but now the view opens far over
buildings old and new, across the river, and out to the hills beyond. There are three bedrooms, a huge lounge and dining area
overlooking those stunning vistas in three directions, and a bathroom to die for with all polished glass and chrome fittings as well
as a Jacuzzi.
I am torn between a broad grin and embarrassment.
“Where do you want this?” asks Ross, still weighed down under his load.
“Umm ... I’m not sure. Anywhere, Ross. Just put it down.” I don’t know quite what to do next. “I can’t stay here. I can’t possibly
afford it.”
Ross looks at me with a slightly pitying expression. “You’re working for Mr Haswell?”
“Er, yes ...”
“So, he pays your wages? He knows how much you earn?”
“Yes.”
“And he’s your landlord, so he sets the rent ...”
“Err ... yes ...”
“And he told the concierge to give you this key?”

“Yes.”
“So this is the apartment you’re getting. And you can afford it. Now, where do you want this stuff?”
He’s right, of course. What else can I say? I look around my new glorious apartment. Where to put things?
“Just put them down anywhere, Ross.” I need to decide how to lay things out, and it’s not as though there is any furniture yet.
I spend the rest of the day arranging my things as best I can with no furniture. I am just deciding that I should go out to shop for a
bed, a table and chairs, and some other essentials when the door intercom buzzes. “Yes?”
“Hello, Elizabeth. It’s me, Richard.”
He’s here! “Oh, come on up. It’s wonderful in here!”
A couple of minutes later, my Master enters then drops the latch on the apartment door. “I don’t want to be interrupted right now.”
He smiles.
I start to speak. “I want to say thank you—”
He puts a finger to my lips. “You’re welcome. But you can show me your thankfulness in a better fashion. Now where ...?” He
glances around the lounge and then walks to the kitchen counter. “Come here, Elizabeth.”
I stand obediently before him as he tilts up my chin to kiss me on the mouth, then he gradually pushes me backwards towards
the counter.
“Take your skirt and panties off.”
Simply hearing him say those words excites me, and I feel that inner warmth rising again. I unzip my skirt, letting it slide down to
my feet before stepping out of it and kicking it to one side. I then slip down my already noticeably damp panties. Pretty and black
though they are, they are not needed. My stockings are enough.
As I stand up straight again, my Master is unbuttoning my blouse, sliding his hands inside, and then slipping it off my shoulders
to also drop, discarded, to the floor. Next, he unhooks my bra, leaving me in only my black stockings.
For a moment he stands back, just looking at me, then he unclips my hair and pulls it tumbling down over my shoulders, a
tumbling red torrent to match the fox at my loins.

“Undress me, Elizabeth.”
I slip each shirt button slowly free, and then his cuffs, kissing the taut flat muscles of his abdomen as I do so. His bronzed skin
contrasts sharply against the white linen of his shirt before it too falls to the floor. Unbuckling his belt and unzipping him, I am
growing steadily wetter as I feel his already bulging erection. As I slide down his clothes, his hands push me down from the
shoulders into a kneeling position, then, gripping my hair, he pulls my face towards him, as his other hand guides his penis into
my mouth.
I lick off the twinkling droplet from the tip, loving the salty, sweet taste of his pre-cum. As my tongue and lips wrap around the
head, his shaft twitches under me, and I revel in the odd feeling of power it gives me to obey this man, my Master, to do his
bidding in everything.
With my mouth filled, I glance upwards to see him standing straight, head up and back, hands clasped behind his head. “Pay
attention to what you are doing, Elizabeth,” he says, and compliantly, I suck and lick his cock, feeling it pulse as I trail the tip of
my tongue around the rim of the head, first flicking quickly, then making long sweeping strokes of my tongue, from the base of
his shaft, full-length to the crown, savouring his trickling juices as his lust rises.
I hear him take a gasp above me. “You’re so good at that, Elizabeth, but in a minute, you are going to stand, and I’m going to
fuck you senseless.”
At his words, I flood and gasp, feeling wet heat dribble down inside my thighs. He chuckles as he hears me. “You like that idea
then?” Suddenly he bends, grasping me by the waist and lifts me, depositing my naked ass on the kitchen counter. “Spread ‘em,”
he says, forcing my knees apart as he does so, and making me lean back to support myself. “Lie down,” he says, pushing me,
flat-handed, back down onto the marble surface, then pulling me forward at the hips until his cock kisses into my pussy.
He thrusts for a moment, then stops. “Not wet enough yet, I think.”
I am not sure what he means by this, as it seems to me that I am already swollen and slippery for him, but he drops down and
plants his mouth squarely over my pussy, thrusting in with his tongue, twisting and probing, drinking my juices. Involuntarily, I
heave and gulp, arching my back to raise my hips to him, locking my ankles behind his head to open myself fully to my Master.
“Lie still,” he says. “I have not given you permission to move.”
I try to obey, but as his lips purse over my clit, I cannot help myself; I groan and writhe at the exquisite fire stabbing up through
my core. My Master’s teeth nibble gently at my bud, then his tongue circles it, flicking and manipulating it until my pussy juices

gush over his face. He licks deep, over my pussy lips, trailing through my cunt, lingering deliciously as he drinks from me.
“Wet enough now, I think,” he says as he rises to his feet.
Standing, my Master’s erection is huge. He probes with the tip at my entrance, once, twice, thrice, as my pussy twitches and
jumps in response, then thrusts hard, headlong deep inside me, stopping only as he strikes my inner walls. I scream in response,
my cunt throbbing to his rhythm as I try to tighten my pussy and belly muscles around him. I can barely think as he plunges into
me, again and again, but I know that I want him there and that I want him to take the greatest pleasure in me.
He pounds away inside me, no gentleness, and demanding a response. Lying flat-backed on the stone surface, there is little I
can do beyond scream, it rises unbidden from my depths, a deep, primal reply to the earthquake of the flesh I am experiencing at
my Master’s bidding. My hips try to gyrate in time to his thrusting, but with no give to the stone surface, I cannot really move at
all, only quiver below him as he plunges inside me, again and again, harder and harder.
I feel the stone slab slick under me, and I begin to slide over the smooth surface. My Master seizes me at the hips, holding me
steady, as he continues his pounding inside me, balls-deep and then out completely to his full length, in and then out again.
Breathing is difficult as I pant uncontrollably between screams, my heart pounding and my pulse racing.