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Authors: Kallista Dane

Bared by the Billionaire

 

 

 

Bared by the Billionaire

 

 

By

 

Kallista Dane

 

Copyright © 2014 by Stormy Night Publications and Kallista Dane

 

 

 

 

Copyright © 2014 by Stormy Night Publications and Kallista Dane

 

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

 

Published by Stormy Night Publications and Design, LLC.

www.StormyNightPublications.com

 

 

Dane, Kallista

Bared by the Billionaire

 

Cover Design by Korey Mae Johnson

Image by Dreamstime/Honored

 

 

 

This book is intended for
adults only
. Spanking and other sexual activities represented in this book are fantasies only, intended for adults.

Chapter One

 

 

The chauffeur escorted Kyra through the lobby and into the private elevator to the penthouse, toting the hefty suitcases she’d packed as though they were empty. When the elevator opened, he turned left and led her down a long, dimly lit hallway, setting her bags in front of the door at the end.

“This is your suite, ma’am,” he said, ushering her inside. “Your instructions are on the table. I’m going to have to examine the contents of your bags. I’ll need your purse, too. Everything will be returned to you later.” He stood, unmoving, until she reluctantly handed him the leather tote bag holding her lifeline to the outside world, then turned and walked out before she could utter a word. She heard the unmistakable click of the door locking behind him.

Kyra looked around. She was in a tiny foyer, painted a warm chocolate brown. An enormous spray of white orchids in a rustic basket stood on the table to her left, with a large gold-framed mirror hanging behind it. In front of her was a sitting room, decorated in tones of cream and honey. A floor-to-ceiling span of glass dominated the far end, facing the brilliant turquoise water of Biscayne Bay. Across the bay, the high-rise hotels of Miami Beach glistened in the August sun. Unlike most luxury hotels and condos here in South Florida, there was no balcony outside, no sliding glass door or even a window to let in the breeze. No means of escape, she realized with a shiver of dread.

She opened the door to her right. A king-sized bed against one wall barely made a dent in the room. Beyond it was a luxurious bath, a walk-in closet, and dressing area. She slid open one of the mirrored doors and gasped. Tight satin corsets that laced up the back, a little plaid schoolgirl skirt barely long enough to cover her ass, full-length gowns in fabric so sheer that she could see right through it.

And the shoes. Easily thirty pair arranged on floor-to-ceiling shelves. Red leather, shiny black patent, silver metallic, even zebra-striped suede. All with death-defying stiletto heels.

“Looks like he has a kinky shoe fetish along with his obsession with BDSM,” she said aloud. She assumed the room would hold hidden cameras and listening devices and she took a perverse pleasure in uttering the casual insult. Her attention was drawn to one outfit hanging all alone in the center with a small card dangling from it.

 

Put this on. Now.

 

Black lace garter belt, black stockings with seams up the back, underwire bra that would leave her nipples exposed—and four wide black Velcro bands. She guessed that two were for her wrists, the other two for her ankles. Each had a stout metal ring attached to it. Kyra felt her stomach clench. No skirt, no blouse, no panties. She wasn’t surprised to see that the bra was her size, as were the black platform heels carefully arranged below the outfit. Her employer’s ability to obtain and then make use of the most obscure data about other people was legendary.

She headed back out into the hallway. This time she noticed the envelope lying on the table. Inside was a single sheet of paper.

 

Remove your clothes and dress in today’s outfit. Then kneel in the center of the sitting room facing the door, with your legs spread apart, back straight. Sit on your heels and rest your hands on your thighs, palms up.

Remain in that position until I arrive
.

 

Despite her attempts at bravado, the curt message brought home to Kyra just how vulnerable she was at this moment. The chauffeur had her purse and her suitcases and he’d be inspecting the contents. What if he found the tiny recorder installed in her cell phone?

She’d been warned. People sometimes take desperate measures when they feel threatened. If her new boss found out why she was really here, he could easily arrange for her to disappear. Other than her one contact, no one would be concerned. She had no family left to care about her, and the few casual friends she’d made at her last job would be scattering now, each absorbed in their own personal tragedy of suddenly being unemployed. Sure, they’d leave messages on Facebook for her, probably even a few voicemails. Then she’d be forgotten… until parts of her body floated past some redneck gator-hunting out in the Everglades. This was Miami, after all.

She took a deep breath and headed back to the dressing room. Carefully removing her clothes and hanging them in the other closet, she stood there for a moment, naked and trembling. She unclipped the lacy black garter belt from its hanger, fumbling with the unfamiliar garment before fastening it around her waist, then sat on the cushioned ottoman in the middle of the dressing room and pulled on the stockings. Next came the bra. It was cut so low that it barely held up her full breasts.

Kyra slipped on the platform heels and stared at herself in the mirror as she fastened the black cuffs around her wrists and ankles. She looked like one of those sluts in the X-rated movies she watched sometimes, all alone late at night. She debated leaving her hair up, then pulled the pins out and shook it loose. If she tilted her head down, her long locks would partially cover her breasts. He might not see that her nipples jutted out, already hard.

Admit it,
she told her reflection in the mirror.
Yes, you’re scared, but this is exactly what you’ve always fantasized about. In a few minutes, you’re going to be kneeling at the feet of a strange man and he’s going to do whatever he wants to you. The danger you’re in just adds another layer to the thrill.
She resisted the urge to run a hand between her legs, knowing she’d find her pussy already damp.

Kyra teetered into the sitting room, unsteady on the ridiculously high heels, and picked a spot in the center of the room. The floor was covered in a plush carpet the color of café-au-lait and she sank to her knees, grateful that she wasn’t on a hard floor. She sat back on her haunches, then remembered the instructions and spread her knees far apart.

Raising her hands, she stared at them for a moment as though they belonged to someone else. He’d even specified where—and how—she was to place them. Palms up, on her thighs. That’s when it hit her. She’d given up her freedom to choose, to decide even the minutest details of her life. For the next six months, her hands belonged to someone else. And so did her mouth… and her pussy and her ass. Kyra swallowed the overwhelming urge to bolt from the room. If she did, what she’d have to deal with outside these walls in the next six months was in some ways far worse.

She laid her trembling hands on her thighs, palms up, closed her eyes and willed her stomach to settle down. Ten minutes passed. Twenty. Then thirty. She rocked back and forth a little, trying to keep her muscles from cramping in this unfamiliar position, but she didn’t dare move and risk having him come in and catch her disobeying his very first order.

Wild images of what might be in store for her flowed through her mind, naughty scenes from the books she read in secret. Her new employer knew what he was doing, making her wait like this. Every second that passed ramped up both her nerves and her arousal.

When the door opened at last, she let out a little sigh of relief. She watched him come toward her, his face expressionless. In casual jeans and a black t-shirt, his body was more muscular than it looked in the tux he’d worn the first night she ever saw him. But his hair was longer now, a dark thick mass of unruly waves that made her want to comb her fingers through it. His face was lean, high cheekbones and strong jawline that would delight a sculptor. Kyra guessed that the sexy two-day growth of beard on his face was due to his tendency to immerse himself in work rather than a desire to look like all the popular celebrities. A sexy, rich, super-intelligent dom—under any other circumstances, she’d have been thrilled to find herself here.

She fought for composure and looked up at him coolly, then gasped as he stepped closer and fisted both hands in her hair.

“You will keep your eyes down unless I give you permission to look at me. And you will not speak unless I tell you to or ask you a question.”

His eyes were dark, hard. She tore her gaze away from his and looked down at the floor, silent.

“Now say ‘Yes, sir.’”

“Yes, sir,” she repeated, trying to keep the quaver out of her voice. She was really here and it was really happening. She clenched her pussy together and felt a shiver of arousal flow through her.

He let go of her hair and she tucked her chin to her chest, averting her eyes. He walked around her, running a hand casually across her shoulder and then down, brushing the long locks away from her breast and giving her erect nipple a sharp pinch. She bit her lip to keep from crying out.

“Stand up,” he said.

She stood, legs shaking a little from the time she’d spent crouching on her knees. He slid his hand down, giving a tug to the mass of dark curls between her legs. “This will have to go. I don’t like anything in my way. You’ll be strapped down on the table in my lab and waxed. Now spread your legs. Wider.”

His hand moved further, one finger dipping into her slick folds. “Wet already. Good. I was told you are an excellent sub. Turn around.”

She turned and he grabbed both of her hands, pulling them behind her back and running a narrow chain through the metal rings on her cuffs. He clipped the ends together, leaving a few inches between her wrists. Kyra was shocked at how much the sudden feeling of total helplessness ramped up her arousal.

“Bend over,” he said. Awkwardly she bent forward, trying to maintain her balance in the six-inch heels. He wrapped one arm around her waist, holding her in place. The other hand traced the cleft between the twin mounds of her ass, framed by the belt of lace and the black straps of her garters. His fingers probed. She clenched her cheeks together. He stopped and slapped the inside of her thigh, hard. “Keep those legs spread wide. You will open yourself to me whenever I want.”

He slid one leg between hers, tugging her ankle toward him with his foot. If not for his arm grasping her firmly around the middle, she’d have toppled over. His hand resumed its invasive probing, dipping into her pussy and then spreading the slick juices all around. She groaned as she felt one wet finger rimming her ass, then shoving relentlessly past the tight opening.

“You’ve never been fucked in the ass, have you?” He kept going as he spoke, moving his finger in and out, a little deeper each time.

“No… sir,” she replied, her voice ragged.
It’s too much,
the voice in her head was crying out
. I’m
not ready to have my most wicked fantasy come true yet.

“After you’re spanked long enough and hard enough, you’ll be begging me to do it.”

He withdrew his finger so quickly she couldn’t help giving a little gasp.

“Wanting more already? You’ll get it—soon.”

He ran one hand down her thigh. “The seams on your stockings aren’t straight. I can’t abide sloppiness. You need to be punished for that.”

Half-carrying, half-dragging her to the nearby loveseat, he bent her roughly over the arm. She watched out of the corner of her eye as he went to a tall cabinet against the wall and opened it. Inside was an array of paddles, riding crops, and bizarre implements she’d never seen before. Her breath quickened. She was about to be spanked—a real spanking. He turned and she quickly cast her eyes downward, hoping he hadn’t noticed.

He came toward her, and she heard him slapping something against his palm with each step. “Later on, I’ll occasionally have you choose the implement I use for punishment sessions. I find that requiring you to select your own tool of discipline drives home your submission. Besides, I’ll enjoy watching you pick up the various whips and paddles, trying to weigh which one will inflict the least amount of anguish against your knowledge that making a decision that displeases me will earn you severe consequences.”

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