The Runaway Bride - A Captive Flame Book One (8 page)

The sheer quality of
the clothing took my breath away. The pieces the woman had chosen
for me, constantly casting glances over my full bust and hips, my
trim waist, commenting on my complexion and hair and eyes,
looked—initially—like exactly the kinds of things you could buy at
a store anywhere; sweaters, pants, blouses, skirts. But when I
actually started to put them on, I could feel the fineness of the
fabrics used. The weight of the trousers, the skirts, and the
dresses was perfect—and the fit was so much better than anything I
had ever worn that I was shocked that I had ever thought anything
looked good on me in my life. I tried on more dresses, skirts,
blouses, suits, and separates than I could count, stepping out of
the spacious confines of the changing room—which had its own
wingback chair nestled in a corner—to get opinions from both the
attendant and from Krystopher. There were a few items that utterly
delighted me: a silk blouse that caressed my skin in a shimmer of
soft sleek fabric, a skirt that barely covered me, clinging to the
curve of my ass—in a deep, almost black navy color that made my
skin glow, and a pair of trousers that fell perfectly to my
ankles.

Krystopher gave every
item I tried on a careful inspection, sometimes standing up and
gesturing for me to spin. He only approved one or two pairs of
pants—while giving a subtle nod to dresses and skirts that would
provide him with easy access to my breasts, my ass, and my pussy.
The woman taking care of me brought pairs of shoes to go with the
outfits that I told her I liked the best—I was surprised once more
at how comfortable they were in spite of the fact that the heels
were higher than I would ever have picked for myself. When she went
away, taking an armful of clothes along with the tags to an outfit
that I had decided to wear out of the store, Krystopher closed the
distance between us, giving me a brief kiss on the lips. “You have
wonderful taste, my little slave,” he murmured. “Though your
preference for trousers is a bit unfortunate.” A flicker of a smile
curved his lips before he led me out of the changing room, looking
like a new woman.

He took me to two
other places—a very high-end lingerie store and a designer boutique
that specialized in nothing but accessories—and everywhere we went,
no one questioned his stories, no one batted an eyelash at the fact
that he was willing to simply put down his black credit card
without even looking at the total. I was caught off guard again and
again by how helpful everyone was prepared to be; even at the
lingerie store, where the attendants didn’t know him by name, just
the sight of Krystopher and I elicited deferential treatment and
plenty of help, a kind of obsequious following and interest in our
comfort.

By the end of the
afternoon, I was so exhausted that I almost couldn’t keep going.
Krystopher held me close in the car, touching me everywhere,
slipping his hand up the skirt of my dress and stroking me until I
was soaking wet. “Don’t worry, my dear—I don’t intend to force you
to starve or drop dead of exhaustion. We’ll have a nice dinner
together and then we can continue your training at home.”

***

The next day,
Krystopher gave me the privacy to shower on my own, something I had
been fearing wouldn’t be my right; the discipline session from the
night before had wrung out every last bit of my energy, until I had
actually broken down into tears at how sore and exhausted I was.
Krystopher finished me off with an orgasm more intense than I had
ever experienced in my life before pulling me into his arms,
soothing me with surprisingly gentle touches while he murmured
praise at how very well I had performed. When the alarm woke us
both in the morning, Krystopher had foregone discipline or
punishment, simply fingering me until I came to a quick orgasm and
then thrusting into me until he reached his own pleasure. “Who does
your body belong to?” he had asked me as he filled me up over and
over again.

“You,” I murmured, my
voice sounding drunk to my own ears. He had then given me
permission to take a quick shower and to do my hair and makeup,
telling me that my outfit for the day would be laid out on the bed
when I finished.

At some point, I
assumed, Krystopher had placed an order for toiletries for
me—though I couldn’t imagine when. I showered quickly, scrubbing
myself head to toe, and decided to do my hair as simply as
possible—we were going to be touring Krystopher’s office. The
makeup he had procured for me was simple, almost idiot-proof. He
wanted me to look clean but polished, suitably professional. I got
through my routine quickly and stepped back into the bedroom; it
was empty, but I saw the outfit laid out for me on Krystopher’s
bed.

The first thing I
noticed was that there was a bra—but no panties. The skirt that
Krystopher had chosen for me would hit just at my mid-thigh;
professional-looking, but with no panties underneath I knew I’d
feel scandalized all day. The blouse was loose and sleeveless,
buttoned down the front, with a fitted blazer to wear over it, and
one of the pairs of high heels that I had tried on the day before.
He had also put out some accessories, with a hastily scribbled note
telling me that I was to pick what I wanted from among them.

Everything felt
surreal to me in the seclusion of Krystopher’s huge apartment. I
had been too exhausted the night before to absorb any details of
the rooms I passed through; but after a decent night’s sleep, I
looked around me while I dressed, taking in the subtle touches that
demonstrated my new lover’s incredible wealth. The art on his walls
was real—not prints, but actual paint on canvas; the bed I had
slept in the night before was huge, made of solid wood carved along
the posters and boards. The rug under my feet as I dressed was so
deep, so plush, that I almost didn’t want to slip the shoes on.
Everything gleamed with consummate craftsmanship or artistry;
everything was built for both style and comfort.

I walked through the
apartment, trying to find where Krystopher might be. “In the dining
room,” he called out as I stood, irresolute and a little lost. He
had breakfast served for me: oatmeal and eggs, juice and coffee,
fresh fruit and toast. “You’ve got about thirty minutes before we
need to leave,” Krystopher told me as he took me in slowly, his
gaze lingering at my breasts and the hem of my skirt. “I’m pleased
that you got ready so quickly.” I blushed—and wondered what had
happened to me in the last twenty-four hours. I was used to saying
exactly what I thought and not caring whether people approved of my
actions or not. Somehow, after the punishment and discipline that
Krystopher had given me, along with the mind-warping experience of
being attached to someone of great wealth, I found myself not only
suddenly shy, but eager to please the man who had done so much to
me and for me.

When we arrived at
the office—just one of a half dozen that Krystopher owned,
scattered around the world—I was stricken once more by the sheer
deference that was paid to the billionaire who had taken me on. He
brought me to the security section first, vouching for me—claiming
that I was a new business partner that he was trying to woo. The
security guards quickly got me an ID and security clearance, and
Krystopher whisked me away once more, barely paying the attentive
guards any attention. There was a visible effect whenever he
entered a room; everyone tensed, pausing in their business but
trying to look like they were busy at the same time. There was a
sense of power that radiated from Krystopher—a kind of authority
that I was used to only seeing from kings and other heads of state.
I almost thought as we made our way through various departments,
that if Krystopher told one of his employees to jump through a
window, that employee might actually do it.

Krystopher spun a
terrific story, explaining me away to his sycophantic staff as an
associate that he had run into during his business trip. “She’s a
long-time friend, and when I discovered that she’s looking for new
opportunities, I suggested she come and tour the office with me,
find out more about what we do here.” Everyone agreed with him
immediately that it was a wonderful idea, that they looked forward
to working with me in the future, that I was clearly a very shrewd
businesswoman; I almost laughed and spoiled the whole story,
thinking to myself that the people I worked with at the law firm
would be shocked to see me touted as some titan of enterprise. I
have always been an intelligent person—legal secretaries need a
variety of skills and quick wits to survive—but I would never have
considered myself fit to run an entire business on my own.

We made our way up
through the building slowly; I took in the sight of the
departments, everything running like a well-oiled machine, the
outfits of the employees becoming more sleekly professional, more
obviously expensive, the higher up we went. It was easy to see that
distance from the ground equated to rank in this office—the upper
floors were peopled by fewer employees, and more offices than
cubicle farms, as opposed to the lower floors. My feet were killing
me by the time we were halfway through the tour, but I kept my
complaints to myself, keeping my face a mask of polite and
intelligent interest whenever we were in front of anyone.

It would have been
easier to maintain my composure; but the private elevator we
took—Krystopher’s own elevator, accessible only to him and people
with sufficiently high security clearance—gave my Master the
opportunity of reaching up under my skirt between floors, rubbing
me quickly as I got wetter and wetter. When we were in office
territory, he acted utterly polite and friendly to me, as if I were
indeed a wealthy associate; but when we were alone, he
couldn’t—wouldn’t—keep his hands off of me. He nipped sharply at my
neck, reaching out blindly at one point to stop the elevator to
give himself a few more minutes alone to torture me. “This tour
isn’t just for you to learn about my company,” he murmured as I
suppressed a moan at the feeling of his fingers slipping against my
slick labia. “It’s also part of your training. I expect that when
we’re in front of anyone, you’ll be absolutely composed and on
point. You must learn to keep yourself utterly poised.”

As we continued
upward, the offices grew in size, and became lusher in luxury. I
somehow managed to maintain my self-discipline and wits, answering
questions about my business experience, suppressing the blushes
that rose to my face from the intimate interludes in the elevator.
I wanted more than anything to find a private place to be with
Krystopher for more than a few minutes at a time, to let him have
his way with me—I could tell by the mounting tension in his touch
that he was getting just as excited as I was, though he managed not
to become visibly aroused.

We came to the
penthouse offices finally, and I met Krystopher’s direct
subordinates; they were not quite as sycophantic as the others had
been, but were still deferential and respectful, nodding and
looking at me with just the slightest trace of fear. One of the men
was slimy indeed—I could tell Krystopher was less than thrilled by
him as well, though I realized that he probably served a valuable
purpose in the organization as the Chief Marketing Officer. I also
met Krystopher’s personal secretary; she gave me the first
look—veiled as it was—that suggested that she, for one, didn’t buy
my cover story. We spoke longer to the executive officers than we
had to the other employees that Krystopher had introduced me to,
though even then I thought I could detect my Master’s urgency to
move on—he had the best self-control of anyone I had ever met in my
life, but even he had to eventually feel the pressure of delayed
arousal.

My inner thighs were
slick with my fluids; the lack of any panties, mingled with my
constantly aroused state, made it almost uncomfortable to walk—made
me self-conscious, wondering if anyone could see how turned on I
was, if they caught glimpses of slick shine when I walked. Finally
we went up to the top floor, and Krystopher took me by the hand,
leading me off of the elevator quickly.

His office was huge;
he saw my surprise and chuckled, gesturing for me to look around as
much as I liked. “I’m the CEO and founder of this company. When the
office was built, I insisted that my office take up the entirety of
the top floor—I even have roof access. Apart from some engineering
and architectural needs, everything here is my office.” The main
space that I could see was almost as big as the apartment I had
shared with Johnny; it was divided up into a casual entertaining
area, Krystopher’s desk and work space, and a conference area, with
an impressively large table for meetings of a more formal nature. I
couldn’t imagine that there was more to it—but I saw doors
scattered around on the walls, obviously leading to other areas.
One whole side of the room was dominated by huge windows that went
floor to ceiling, a smaller door inset by Krystopher’s desk led out
onto the roof. The whole city stretched out before my eyes, with
skyscrapers vying for prominence and the street nothing more than a
remote possibility below. “There’s more to show you,” Krystopher
told me, taking my hand and leading me away.

He opened one of the
doors, showing a tiny room-within-a-room, a bed and couch for those
times when he needed to catch some rest without leaving the office.
Behind another door was a bathroom almost as luxuriously appointed
as the one at his lavish apartment, and in another was a simpler,
guest toilet, though it was obviously nicer than the one I’d shared
with Johnny.