Chapter 38: Bought By The Billionaire - Chapter Thirty-Eight


    After long moments, theyers of silk, gauze andce encasing me are pulled back and I emerge from


    my dim white tent, blinking a little in the sudden explosion of light. My Master eases me upright, turns


    me to face him, lifts me and carries me through to the bedroom, where he deposits me gently on the


    bed.


    As he unknots his tie, stripping off his shirt, he smiles down at me. “Don’t worry. I wasn’t about to ravish


    you again just yet.”


    “Of course not, Master. We’ll give it five minutes or so shall we?”


    He chuckles as he lies down next to me, his head cradled in the crook of my neck. “Of course, yes.


    Foolish of me. Five minutes.”


    His arms lock loosely around me. “I Love You, Elizabeth Haswell.”


    “And I Love You too, Master.”


    *****


    “So where are we going?” I am excited. My Master, my new husband, has kept me in the dark as to


    where we will spend our honeymoon.


    “You’ll see.” He sounds, and looks, smug, refusing to say another word on the subject. But, besides


    smug, he looks wonderful, wearing the in white linen shirt and ck jeans that suit him so well. The


    white of the shirt sets off his tan and the tightly fitting jeans enhance his…. figure.


    I am demurely dressed in a white blouse, navy blue, knee length, skirt, and court shoes.


    I try a different angle. “How long will we be away for?”


    My billionaire Master has responsibilities and a heavy work schedule. I wonder if our ‘honeymoon’ is


    destined to be a long weekend only.


    The car turns off the main highway. So, we are not going to the airport. Fantasies of sun-kissed


    beaches and blue seas fade away.


    Instead, we follow narrow roads, away from the city entirely, up towards the mountains. After an hour or


    so, we turn in to a vast gateway, framed with intricate wrought iron rails and stone lions. A long drive


    curves ahead of us, set within close-clippedwns. Beech, oak and chestnuts dot thendscape and,


    way down the hill; is that ake?


    “Oh, it’s lovely Richard? Is this the hotel where we’re staying?”


    His smug-ometer is going off the scale. “It’s not a hotel. There’s just us.”


    “Just us?”


    “Well, I brought in a few people to cook and clean for us. Ross insisted on being one of them.” He tips


    his head towards our driver, whose grin I can see, even though the back of his head. “But apart from


    that, yes, just us.” He raises an eyebrow. “You did want us to be private for our honeymoon, didn’t


    you?”


    I start to speak, but the housees into view.


    It is a small mansion, Georgian I think, and graciously designed. Tall windows frame a door set into a


    deep porch. Half a dozen steps lead up to the entrance. A carriage circle fronts the facade.


    It must have cost a fortune to hire this ce.


    “Oh Richard. It’s beautiful. I love it. And yes, of course I wanted us to be ‘private’.”


    The car pulls up onto the gravelled drive. Ross starts to unload our luggage. My Master steps out,


    walks around the car and opens my door, proffering his arm. “Would you like to apany me inside


    Mrs Haswell?”


    ‘Mrs Haswell’. It brings tears to my eyes, the words still too new for the shine to have worn away.


    We step into an elegant hall. Beautifully patterned rugs ovey a gorgeous parquet floor. A chandelier


    above us is paired to apanion that beckons up a long, curved stairway. To my left, I see a sunlit


    drawing room. To my right is a dining room,id out for dinner with candbras and fresh flowers on a


    long mahogany table.


    It is a house from dreams.


    Speechless, I simply stand there, staring.


    “Don’t you like it?” My Master has a worried tinge to his voice.


    “How could I not like it Mas…. Richard?” I am conscious of Ross in the background. Whilst we are in


    public, my husband is ‘Richard’. In private, he is ‘Master’. “It’s just beautiful.”


    He leads me upstairs. “I chose a bedroom for us, overlooking theke.” he says. “But we can always


    change it, if you prefer another one.”


    The bedroom is sumptuous and the views are to die for. A huge bed takes centre stage in the room.


    Sunshine nts over red satin covers, scattered with white rose petals. An ice bucket sits on a small


    side-table, chilling a bottle.


    “Ah champagne!” says my Master. “Let’s start with a toast shall we.” He pops the cork, and pours two


    sses.


    We toast. “To us.”


    “To us.”


    N?velDrama.Org: owner of this content.


    I sip mine, sniffing at the bubbles up my nose. “I feel as if I’m in a fairy-tale Master.”


    He puts his ss carefully to one side and stands before me, hands resting on my waist, face tilted


    down to mine. “I wanted us to have a beautiful honeymoon. And I want us to have a beautiful life. You


    deserve a fairy-tale.”


    Then he grins wickedly. “But there’s more.”


    “Really?” I am excited now, like kid working my way through a candy jar. Each sweetie seems better


    than thest. “What? What is it?”


    “You’ll see. Now, do you want to unpack? Have a bath? Take a walk?” He is being polite, but there is a


    spective look in his eye which sets my pussy purring.


    “Um…. this is our honeymoon. I thought we might find some other things to do? And besides, I want to


    show you your wedding present.”


    “My wedding present?” That eyebrow lifts again and his mouth twitches as his blue, blue eyes scan me


    over. “What are you wearing under there?”


    I must bepletely predictable. He’s not been fooled for a minute. “Why don’t you find out…...”


    He looks me up and down, a glint of humour crinkling his eyes, then, standing back, arms akimbo, he


    nods down at my blouse. “Take it off.”


    It is an instruction, and I always obey my Master’s instructions.


    Slowly, I start to unbutton the blouse, allowing the slinky fabric to slip to one side, revealing what I am


    wearing beneath. As the blouse opens, disying ck leather andce, chrome fittings and buckles,


    my Master’s head tilts to one side, eyes widening and I see the fit of his jeans grow tighter.


    “All the way off.” His voice is thick.


    There is a knock at the door, and Ross’ voice. “Mr Haswell. Mrs Haswell. I’ve got your suitcases.


    Should I bring them in?”


    “Later, Ross.” barks my Master. “Go and get some lunch.”


    There is a thump outside - as of suitcases being dropped onto a thick carpet, and the sounds of


    footsteps retreating down a staircase. A momentter, the sound of a door opening then closing, and


    the hum of a car engine. Gravel crunches under wheels, then fades.


    “No more interruptions.” My Master turn the key in the door lock and then turns to me. “You’ve brought


    plenty of clothes? Your cases seemed heavy enough.”


    I’m puzzled. “Yes of course.”


    “Good.” He seizes my blouse inside both shoulders and rips it off me. Seams rip under his un-gentle


    treatment and my pulse races.


    Then he seizes my skirt by the waistband, tearing it in two. It shreds at the fastenings, dropping to the


    floor. My pussy convulses, gushing. I stand, d in ck leather corset, stockings and tiny ckcy


    panties.


    “They can go too.” My Master slips fingers inside the panties, sliding over my wet clit, testing me, then


    pulls, and the tattered remains of my panties drop to the floor. “You’ll not be needing those for some


    time.”


    “Now then, Mrs Haswell. Let’s see about your marital duties. Stand up straight. Turn around. I want to


    admire my new wife.”


    Obediently, I turn. He passes me my champagne flute. “Enjoy your wine.”


    Sipping carefully at my drink, I pose for my Master. His eyes linger on my breasts, cupped high and


    curved in their leather confinement. He strokes them, slowly, caressingly, and then, peeling down the


    leather support, eases each one out of its cup, so that it sits, pert and disyed, above the corset.


    In the cool air, my nipples stiffen and crinkle. For a moment, my Master bends to suckle at one, then,


    dipping his fingers in my champagne, paints chilled wine over each nipple. The pink buds respond,


    hardening to nubs, which my Master pinches, enough to make me yelp.


    “No noise.” he says. “You have to be quiet.” Then he pinches again, harder.


    This time, I stifle the yelp, but my melting pussy trickles down inside my thighs.


    “If you can’t be quiet.” he says. “I may have to punish you. So be good.” And he bends again, to nuzzle


    at my breasts, biting gently.


    I want to bring this to a head. I want to be fucked. My quivering pussy demands it. I decide to speed


    things up a bit.


    Turning the ss in my hand up-side-down, I pour icy champagne down the length of my Master’s


    back…