Forbidden To Say No - The Billionaire's Plaything (An Erotic Romance Novel) (10 page)

I watch him grinning, losing himself to a sick compulsion as he puts the scissors back to my skin, and I screw my eyes shut. My bra falls from my lifeless, fightless body, never to be thought of again, and once more my breasts are in full view. He grazes his eyes over them briefly, showing me those fires in his eyes, before diverting his attention to my underwear, and soon cutting my panties from my body too.

My heart beats rampantly - I can feel it in my wrists, even - and something swells inside me; a deliriously wet, irresistibly portentous desire to be dominated. I think he sees it too.

"How do you feel, Miss Everett?"

I still don't know how to answer that question. Of course, I know I want more; I know I want Daniel to do craven things to my body, and soon. But what do I tell him?

"I feel
right
."

He responds not with a smile, nor any sort of tacit agreement or understanding. He just turns his back to me, walks to the desk, and picks up two items from my shopping list: the duct tape - its silvery-grey surface shining in the florescent light - and the tangerine.

Was it something I said? Was it something I didn't say? I don't understand. He walks back to me, leaning close to my face, almost standing within the armoire himself. Then, suddenly, in an action that has me as amused as it does surprised, he opens his mouth, as wide as it will go, as if he's sat in the dentist's chair. It takes me a matter of seconds before I realize he wants me to do the same thing. Then, as soon as I prize my jaw open, showing him my pearly whites, he shoves the tangerine inside my mouth, holding it in with his thumb as I choke and splutter around it.
What the hell
!?

"Be calm, Miss Everett," he says in a low- dull-set drone. "This won't hurt."

He takes a length of duct tape, bites it off from the roll, and places it carefully over my lips, capturing the tangerine inside my mouth. I shout, scream, and shriek - producing nothing more than a stifled hum behind the duct tape - as the tangerine stretches my jaw uncomfortably. He's gagged me! All I can do is cough and hum, my words suppressed by the improvised gag.

Now he has me for everything he wants, and I can't resist either in action or in words, even if I wanted to. Suddenly I feel the fright again - a single tear rolling down my cheek from my eye - overwhelmed completely and absolutely by a masochistic desire that only grows with each passing second. I surprise myself; the shy, nervous wannabe actress I knew only a few days ago might hate every moment of this. But, here I am, cords stinging my wrists, and an uncomfortable fruit lodged above my tongue, and I quite
like
the feeling.

He loosens his collar - unfastening his top button, and taking off his tie - never moving his eyes from me. I see them trespassing up and down my petite frame, brushing over the goose-pimpled skin of my thighs, and the neatly trimmed bush of hair upon my mound. My nipples are quickly growing into a pair of rock-hard nubs against the wandering, lecherous advances of his eyes, even as my nervous mind wonders just what he has in store for me next.

"You know, I don't know what it is about you," he says, speaking in an unusually candid tone whilst traveling back to his desk, and deciding which instrument of mysterious pleasure he'll use on me next. "You're so fragile, and you always look so nervous, almost as though the wind could sweep you away."

I can't respond even if I wanted to. Instead I stand swaying from side to side, my quickly weakening knees barely enough to hold me up. He's right though. I'm not exactly the most obvious candidate for a dungeon princess. I watch him pace back to me, this time with the steel clamps, ordinarily used for affixing papers together, but this time used for something much more sinister.

"There's an innocence about you" he says again, a clamp in each hand, pried open between his fingers, moving slowly and threateningly towards my nipples. "You're like a rose, or an icy snowflake. Something beautiful and unspoiled."

He fixes the clamps to me, arousing a rush of pain as my nipples are pinched beneath the cold, hard surfaces of the steel. I close my eyes and scream into the tangerine, making no more than a stifled moan. My billionaire boss - towering menacingly over me - is enjoying every second, his eyes wide and his lips contorted in a grin. My nipples feel so tight, they could almost burst; every drop of blood in my body channels to them, creating two super-sensitive outlets for my sexual frustrations.

"I'd have to be a monster to spoil you" he adds enigmatically, enjoying the sordid dictations of his own arrogant pleasures. "But that won't stop me."

I shuffle around some more, trying to find a comfortable way of standing, trying to ease the pressure on my knees. A single bead of juice trickles from my sopping wet slit, down my leg and onto the floor of the armoire, as I feel my clit engorged and impatient, standing out from my vulva like an impetuous, attention-seeking flower. I yearn for his body; I'd scream and shout for it, if I could and if I dared. But he's going to make me wait.

Taking the root of ginger from the desk, I see him playing with something in his other hand. Is that the scissor blade? Again my heart races, trying to figure out exactly what he's planning for me next. I strain my eyes, carefully trying to piece together his actions, as he takes the blades of the scissors and slowly begins filing away at the ginger root, cutting it into another shape, something I can't yet make out in my shortsighted vision.

"Whhuhh thhuuhh" I groan, my speech stifled and slurring against the intrusive tangerine in my mouth. He doesn't even look up; he's concentrating, using the blade to chop bits off the ginger root, only stopping when he's satisfied with its shape.

"We did a film last year," he says, sounding far from thrilled to be recalling something from his slightly less controversial work life. "I dunno if you saw it. I dunno if anyone saw it, in fact. It bombed."

I nod, graciously, and obediently, unable to take my eyes off the ginger root between his fingers.

"A new genre we were calling 'sexual horror'. You know, a bunch of teens losing their inhibitions, fucking for most of the movie before meeting grisly ends."

I know what he's talking about. I had considered auditioning for one of those roles myself until I read the sex scenes.

"Well, one of the scriptwriters had an idea. Something I'm not ashamed to admit I liked the sound of."

He finally holds the ginger root out before us, letting me look at it in all its sculpted glory. One thin end, and one thick end, the thin end tapering into a point, no more than half a centimeter thick. Strangely, there's a gap in the middle, where it again tapers into thin shaft. It almost looks as like -

"Ahh buuhhpuhh!?" I scream behind my gag. He nods.
I know what it is alright
.

He puts a hand on my shoulder, spinning me around until I face the back of the armoire, and my rounded, curvy butt is extended out towards him invitingly. Then, as I battle to contain my breaths, snorting through my nostrils like some caged animal, he reaches around with one hand steadying my body, whilst holding the shaped root between my ass cheeks.

"Brace yourself" is all he says, before I hear him take a deep breath, and drive the thin end of the wedge between my butt cheeks, past my puckering asshole, and into my rectum.
Fuck
!

I briefly lose myself to the realization that my anal virginity is gone, rejoicing within at how easy it was, before I'm consumed by an entirely different feeling; that of searing, burning discomfort.
It burns
! I scream against the tangerine once more, muffling my every word into a series of vowels, as my billionaire boss stands behind me, resting his hands against my stomach in a strange embrace.

I try to adjust my posture, but actually doing little more than digging it further inside me. My asshole clenches and tightens around it, arousing a sweaty, red-hot feeling of braised skin, warming my insides and my entire ass. It hurts, but there's something else too; a certain dirtiness about all of this. The feeling doesn't go away, reminding me at every second that I'm penetrated, and utterly dependent on my controlling host. I feel a pulse of pleasured tremors shoot throughout my body, and let another bead of juice escape from between my legs as the ginger root burns into the flesh of my ass. I'm being punished somehow; initiated into the darkest, cruelest fantasies of my domineering lover. The feeling is surprisingly liberating.

I don't even realize he's gone until it's too late. I spin myself around, turning myself on my hanging wrists, finding him standing with the curtain rail in his hands, looking as menacing as always.

Slap
, goes the plastic railing, whipped against the quivering flesh of my ass in a deft, brutal motion. I scream into my gag, digging my nails into the abrasive cords that restrain me. Like a good girl, I turn myself back around, facing the back of the armoire once again, giving him a large and complete target to take out his sexual frustrations upon.

Slap!
I bite down upon the tangerine, feeling streams of citric juices fill my mouth, swallowed with mindless compulsion. I wish I could scream out; I wish I could let him, and everybody in this building know just how this makes me feel. I wish I could yell obscenities and curses that would make even the crudest movie producer blush. I wish I could lose myself to the pain and the tension, losing every semblance of conscious thought and wrap my body around Daniel. I wish I could predict just when another deafening, stinging, reddening blow would hit, and dispel all of this waiting tension. But you can't always get what you want.

Slap
, once more.

And again
.

My ass shudders and trembles against the pain, clenching down upon the root of ginger inside my ass even more so, arousing yet another tidal wave of pained pleasure. I feel a procession of tears streaming down my face, as I begin to lose my mind to the impatient lust that threatens to overcome me. All I want is him; to ravage me and brutalize me exactly how I fantasize.

Suddenly the curtain rod drops to the floor; he tires of it. I catch my breath, snorting through my nose loudly and most definitely unattractively. He instead goes to the paint cans in the corner, opening them with the blades of the scissors, before dipping the shiny metallic blades within. I'm too far ensconced within my own world to care right now. I can almost hear myself squelching wetly as I adjust my position, resting my whole weight on my left knee this time; I'm a fucking mess.

"Here" he says, spinning me back around to face the rest of the room, and the paint-dripping blades of the scissors he holds. "You're a work of art."

He paints an assortment of shapes on me, placing one palm on the side of my hips, arousing just enough sexual tension in me to make me clamp down on the root of ginger once again, only to produce yet another burst of burning, searing pain. It's only when I'm finished do I realize what he's written.

Danjel
? He has a funny way of writing the i, curling the bottom around into a j almost. I don't know why it leaps out at me like it does. Whatever; the sight is quickly burnished from my mind as soon as he rises from his knees, back to my face, peering into me with those gorgeous, flaming blue eyes.

"So, do you want me?"

Finally, the fucking question I've waited a painful eternity to be asked. I widen my eyes, screaming against the tangerine at the top of my lungs until I'm completely red in the face.
Yes
!

"I can't hear you."

"
YYYHHHHRRR
!"

He's playing with me; delighting in watching me squirm and squeal for his mere touch. And then comes the cruelest blow of all: before my draining, exasperated eyes, he instead turns himself around, and makes for the door, hesitating briefly with his palm upon the handle, before shooting me one final regrettable glance and leaving. I watch with wide, pleading eyes as the final textiles of his black suit pants disappear behind the door, leaving me tied up and battling the brutal realization that I'm stuck here. I'm still pained by the various instruments of torture - the clamps, the ginger, my restraints - dotted around my body like memorable remnants of something sinister. But I'm far from feeling bad about this.

I gulp, swallowing back a tide of burning citric juices from the swelling tangerine inside my mouth, and adjust my posture, trying to centre myself on both aching knees. I can hear nothing, except for the faint buzz of the florescent light above, and the droning whine of the air conditioning in here. I guess I'm all alone now.

What happened to me? What became of me? A week ago I'd have never consented to being hung from a rail, whipped to a sore redness by a curtain rod, and clamps tightening on my ever-sensitive nipples, not to mention the invasion of any root vegetable into my ass. Yet here I am, seduced by the charismatic majesty of a man so powerful and so domineering I'll apparently give him anything; even my entire body. I should be a bag of nerves, trying to silence my rampaging heartbeat, trying to think of a way to escape this horror movie. Instead, I'm standing here, the skin on my wrists above me slowly being shorn off by the abrasive cords, waiting for my master with hopeful eyes and expectant fantasies.

I feel different.

Chapter Nine

I don't know how long has passed. The cooling current of air-conditioned air around the room has given my naked body a brief sway from side to side, so subtle I don't even notice it at first. I'm hanging here like a piece of meat in the butcher’s. It's funny what you think of in these kind of situations; where I probably should have been thinking of all the reasons I hate this, instead I couldn't get the prospect of seeing Daniel again out of my head. To feel his touch, his caress, even a brutal whip from the curtain rod one final time. Just something to remind me that I still exist.

Every so often I think I hear voices - giggles, indecipherable words, and directionless diction - but every time it merely trails off into the air-conditioning unit's faint hum. My knees ache so badly I doubt I can walk. The countless beads of juice to trail from my sopping hole have dried to me, and the throbbing soreness of the curtain rail blows upon my ass has subsided into a meager sting.