Billionaire Bondage: My Billionaire Boss, Part 3 (A BDSM Erotic Romance)

I kno
w how Alice in Wonderland felt when she tumbled down the rabbit hole.

One moment your life is normal. You're getting up, eating breakfast, having a shower, riding the bus to work. Surrounded by people who are moving th
rough the motions of their day. There is a rhythm and flow to your days and nights and sometimes it's boring but mostly it's comfortable.

Then something changes. A new person enters your life and flips it upside down. Black is white. Day is night. Up is down. Your billionaire boss is a dom and he wants you.

And you want him.

But I didn't fall down a rabbit hole. I walked down a lush corridor in a mansion and followed my boss, Mr. Stone, through a black door.

On the other side was his secret dungeon filled with sex toys and a whole lot more.

I looked up at Mr. Stone and he nodded assent for me to wander around.
I went left to a glass-fronted cabinet filled with vibrators and tried to focus on them to calm myself. Blue slender vibrator. A short wide black vibrator with rubbery nubs all over it. A thick purple vibrator with soft rabbit ear attachment. A small red bullet vibrator that looked very familiar.

I looked back at Mr. Stone. He'd walked back to lean in the doorway. He was wearing his black pants and had his shirt unbuttoned showing the body of a swimmer who did a hella lot of sit-ups. He raised an eyebrow at me and I couldn't help myself grinning like an idiot.

I turned away from the hotness in front of me and moved to the next cabinet. It was filled with plugs of varying shapes, colors and sizes. I'd never tried anything like that before and frankly, the idea made me nervous. Would it hurt? Would the pain come with pleasure? The idea of using one of them had crossed my mind before but I'd always been too scared to do anything about it. Would Mr. Stone use one of these on me? The idea made me shiver in excitement and I quickly moved on. Next to cabinet was a pile of thick soft white ropes. I picked one up and ran it through my hands, delighting in the texture.

"What will you do with these, Sir?" I asked, wrapping them around my hands and facing Mr. Stone.

I saw him swallow and glance down my body. We'd only just had sex but it looked like he was ready to grab me again.

"I will tie you up. Or tie you down. And then ...". He left the sentence hanging but his face told me what he wanted. I turned away from him and dropped the rope.

I moved to the centre of the room where there was a giant wooden barrel with spokes all over it. The main body of it was padded but for the life of me I couldn't work out what this was for.

I ran my hands over the wood, feeling the amazing texture under my palms. It was wide enough to lay on it facedown
, like a massage table.

"How do you use this?"

"You put your back on the padding and I tie your hands to the spokes at the top and your ankles at the bottom. The wheel moves so you are on your back, arched over it with your legs spread wide. You will be at my mercy."

I swallowed and took my hand off the wooden spoke I was clutching. As he spoke I imagined everything he'd do to me. To be tied up in front of this man, helpless...

He stepped away from the door and slowly walked towards me. I stared at him, unable to turn away, and saw the cruel look on his face. This wheel was for punishment first and then pleasure. Mr. Stone came closer and I felt like my feet were joined to the floor. In his eyes I saw no mercy - only a promise to take me to my limits. To punish me and fuck me in equal measure.

He closed the distance and raised his hand to my face. He stroked his finger down my cheek and to my neck. I felt him clasp my neck as I stood transfixed in front of him.

"Do you want to be helpless, Delilah? Do you want to be open and vulnerable, forced to orgasm again and again. Do you want to be denied my cock until you are begging for it?"

He was so close I could feel the heat radiating from his body. Every sound was magnified. The slight rasp of his shirt sleeve. The feeling of his hand around my throat. The thudding of my heart.

"Yes, sir," I said, feeling my pussy grow wet and hot.

"It's time for bed then. We'll begin tomorrow."

He took my hand and led me out of the dungeon. My body was humming like a vibrator turned on low and when he kissed me chastely on the cheek at the door of the guest bedroom just the feeling of his lips nearly made me come right there.

He stalked off down the corridor and I closed the door, telling myself that I needed to sleep and not chase him down the corridor and throw myself at him.

I slid into bed, feeling the soft sheets against my body and tried to process what had just happened. I'd heard a noise. It was Mr. Stone. I'd ... I'd seduced him by stripping off in front of him. He'd lost control and pushed me over the sofa. There was a dungeon. There was him.

It all mixed into a warm blur and I found myself smiling as I drifted off to sleep.

*

I awoke in the morning and for a few minutes lay in bed wrapped in a warm cocoon. The heavy curtains were open and the storm that had driven us to Mr. Stone's mansion had vanished, l
eaving a perfect blue sky in its place.

I stretched and sighed, happiness bubbling up from within me. It had been a night of broken sleep but I felt refreshed. Rejuvenated.

A killer orgasm will do that to a girl
I thought and then smiled at the memory. Mr. Stone sitting by the fire, his face lit only by the embers' glow.

And me, suddenly brave enough to
seduce him by pressing a dot of charcoal on my robe. What had come over me? The memory of the night was vivid but it felt like some other side of me had taken over. A Delilah who took risks. A Delilah who wanted to change herself. A Delilah who would submit.

I slid out of bed
and saw that my robe from last night was folded neatly on the polished trunk at the foot of the bed. There was also an pale gold envelope with
Delilah
written on the front.

I picked up the envelope and caught the faint scent of Mr. Stone. His aftershave plus that indefinable masculine scent. I raised the envelope to my lips and breathed in. For a moment I saw last night again, the images and feelings flooding through me so strongly I had to grip the bedpost to stop myself f
alling over. I shook myself and opened the envelope.

Shower, then breakfast downstairs
in the kitchen. Commands to follow.

It wasn't signed but I recognized Mr. Stone's handwriting. I could almost imagine him instructing me
, watching me with his cool blue-green eyes.

I kissed the note and then dropped it on the bed before heading in to the shower. Mr. Stone had given me commands and I intended to follow them.

*

I dried myself with a thick towel that was both rough and soft at the same time. I was feeling a little overwhelmed and if I thought the shower would cool me down I was wrong.

I didn't even know Gucci made soap!

In the shower there were oils and soaps and bottles and once more I had that feeling that just the shampoo would be half my rent.
How could I fit in here, surrounded by such ridiculous wealth?

My soap at home didn't even have a brand, let alone an entire fashion line.
I caught sight of my worried face in the mirror and tried smiling at myself as I brushed by teeth. He's just a man, I told myself and then mentally added
who is a billionaire dom who wants you and runs the company that ruined your home town
.

I finished up, spitting what was probably thirty bucks of toothpaste into the marble sink and then stood there looking at myself. Should I just make some excuse and leave? My hand strayed
behind me. My ass was still slightly tender from the spanking Mr. Stone had given me last night.

I could leave I told myself. Walk down the driveway. Find a bus. Take that bus to another bus. End up in my tiny apartment. Spend the night alone...

"Don't forget why you're here," I said to myself and went to find some clothes.

*

I padded down the hallway wearing a thick white robe and nothing else. I couldn't find my clothes from last night and the drawers were empty. This one was long and thick and covered a lot more than the silk robe I'd worn last night. I'd considered wearing it but found it had been laundered overnight or replaced with an identical clean copy. Besides, there were plenty of ways to get a man hot and bothered without a sheer silk robe.

I found myself stopping every few feet down the corridor to take in the painting
s. Each was exquisite and I felt like I was in my own private art gallery. Just before the stairs there was a large painting showing a group of mermaids pulling a sailor down into the water. On his face was a mixture of pain and ecstasy. I could see Mr. Stone's touch in every painting and found myself smiling at his good taste. Rich, handsome and ... really amazing at picking art. Not the first thing you thought when you saw him.

I stopped at the top of the st
aircase and found myself mesmerized at the sheer size of the mansion. I'd been half-asleep last night when Mr. Stone had carried me in and so I'd only gotten hints of what it was like. Between the marble floor, lush carpets, artworks tucked in nooks and giant chandelier I didn't know what to look at first.

I walked down the stairs feeling like I was suddenly in some giant museum and only wearing a robe.

At the foot of the stairs I looked around, trying to guess which direction the kitchen was in. Where was Mr. Stone? I heard a faint thudding from the left and then the sound of a kitchen knife.

Bingo.

*

To my disappointment Mr. Stone wasn't in the kitchen. Standing behind a simply enormous granite bench was an older blonde woman who looked like a Swedish milkmaid, including a thick plait of hair down her back.

I stopped in the doorway but she waved me in to sit on a stool by the counter.

"Breakfast
, Miss?" she asked.

"Um ... yes. Thank you. That would be lovely."

She poured a small glass of orange juice and then set it in front of me. Mr. Stone had staff who looked after his home. Who made his meals. I knew staff chefs existed but had never met one before. Was I meant to tip her? Was I allowed to talk with her?

She must have seen the look on my face because she wiped her hands on a towel and came around the bench to hold out her hand. I took it and she smiled a million-watts at me.

"I am Nadine. You are Delilah and I am very pleased to meet you. I will make you breakfast."

She shook my hand and then went back around to continue chopping parsley. I felt myself relax and we started chatting.

Nadine was actually Swedish and had worked for Mr. Stone for three years as his personal chef. I asked her what his favorite food was but she only gave me a smile and changed the subject. On the topic of Mr. Stone she gave nothing away and soon we were talking about her children who were teenagers and went to a local school. In between all our chatting she whipped up an incredibly thin savory crepe and some of the fluffiest yellow scrambled eggs I'd ever had. She finished the breakfast with a pancake made from a single dollop. It was about as round as a coffee-cup and I swear my eyes nearly rolled back in my head when I tasted it.