Love In Handcuffs: The Secret Billionaire (Part One) (BDSM And Domination Erotic Romance Novelette) (6 page)

Of course, thinking about Michael made me remember everything that had happened the previous day—and the previous night. I couldn’t quite stop myself from remembering the way he had spread my legs apart, the feel of his mouth against my pussy. The fact that he hadn’t seemed phased by my admission of embezzlement was interesting. I considered what he had told me about his life; how tawdry it was, ultimately. As we had been walking up and down the deck together, he had told me all about boardroom showdowns, fanatical yes-men who worked for him and who couldn’t quite seem to get the hang of telling him things as they really were. As I scrubbed myself from head to toe, I considered what it would be like to show up to some big event on Michael’s arm. I giggled, soaping up my pussy and giving myself a tentative touch, parting my labia and stroking my clit slowly. In some imaginary world where I could be publicly acknowledged as Michael’s paramour, I would have plenty more sexual interludes with him. But then, I thought, standing under the showerhead and letting the soap sluice down my body, in that imaginary world, how would I have ever even met Michael?

I finished showering and got out just in time for the room service to arrive. I wrapped a towel around my wet hair and tied the robe sash tightly around my waist, answering the door and smiling brightly at the crew member who brought my food. I gave him a good—but not noticeably huge—tip and sat down at the table in my room, breathing in the aroma of the strong, fresh coffee. I still felt tender and sore all over, but I smiled to myself as I had breakfast, thinking of how I had gotten in that state. It couldn’t hurt to see Michael while I was onboard, could it? I knew I was rationalizing, but I didn’t care. I realized that my rationalization depended largely on my trusting Michael’s story. I should know well enough by now not to do that, shouldn’t I? It wasn’t like I hadn’t encountered men lying before. I needed to get my head straight on the issue. Either Michael was lying or he wasn’t. He didn’t have a wedding ring on, but that didn’t provide me with evidence either way—if he was married, he could’ve just taken it off. Even with what he had divulged to me thus far, Michael was still largely a mystery to me. I didn’t even know his last name, for crying out loud.

What did I know about him? He apparently knew food and wine quite well. He had been able to afford an enormous stateroom on a cruise that was fairly pricy to begin with. He was an incredibly good lay, and had very good talents in the area of oral sex. He dressed well. Anything or everything he actually told me could be a lie. With that in mind, did I still want to see him? I picked at the last few bites of cut fruit on my plate and thought about it. But there was really no point in thinking—I knew I had already made up my mind to see him again. I put aside my dirty plates and went to the tiny closet that housed my wardrobe. I had unpacked as soon as I was onboard; in addition to not wanting my clothes to be wrinkled, I figured it made sense for me to have them ready to wear when I was going to be onboard for several days. I picked out a new shirtdress that I had bought shortly before my escape, something that would be easy both for wearing and for undressing. I picked out a pair of heels as well, and quickly got dressed. I considered foregoing panties—it had certainly served me well the night before—but decided that the risk of exposing myself to other strangers was too high compared to the reward. Besides, I remembered quite well how well Michael was capable of teasing me even through panties. I smiled to myself as I got dressed, the caffeine hitting my system and allowing me to feel optimistic again. It was a fling, it was fun, and soon I would be in Mexico, away from the government and any recourse against the money I had taken. What was there to be afraid of?

I wandered around the ship for a little while, killing time. There was a lunch show, some medley of musical numbers that made very little impression on me; the talent was good, but my brain was consumed with meeting up with Michael again. I didn’t even truly notice the food I ate at lunch—it was more as if I knew it was good than experienced it as being tasty. Every moment that separated me from my rendezvous with Michael seemed to drag on for an eternity. I had noticed an odd sound as I got out of the crowded areas of the ship; I sat down on my bed to try and think of what it could be. There was some odd grinding noise coming from below. I told myself that I was being ridiculous; this was the first cruise I was on, and what did I know about enormous ships anyway? I wasn’t even entirely sure I understood how the water worked. I checked my hair and makeup and made myself walk slowly out of my stateroom and through the corridors leading out to the deck.

I spotted Michael right away. He was standing at the bar, in the exact place he had been the day before, and I smiled to myself. He wasn’t wearing a suit, but a comfortable-yet-stylish shirt and slacks, the shirt sleeves rolled up to just under his elbow to show his forearms. He was having a beer, glancing around idly until he spotted me. I grinned at him and slowly made my way over, not wanting to appear—either to him or to any crew members watching—that I was rushing over. I wasn’t sure who knew me as his wife and who knew me as a single woman. It didn’t seem to matter ultimately. Michael met me as I approached the bar, guiding me to where he had been standing and gesturing to the bartender for another beer. I was tingling where his hand rested on the small of my back. I breathed in, smelling the ocean air, the alcohol nearby, and Michael’s cologne. It was as if my entire body was already in tune with him; I cautioned myself against becoming too attached, but it was too easy to lean into his touch.

We drank our beers and moved out onto the main part of the deck, walking and talking as we had the day before. Michael’s hands moved over me in polite but sensual ways; touching the small of my back, brushing against my waist, pushing a strand of hair out of my face. I wanted nothing more than for Michael to push me up against the railing and have me right there—and at several points I wished I had gone through with my original idea to forget wearing panties. At the same time, Michael was so amusing, making me laugh at his anecdotes about his time in college, about his early years as a businessman and the mistakes he had made. Hours passed by so quickly that I didn’t even notice them—or the growing rumble from below the deck.

We were stopped mid-stride by a crewman, who approached Michael with an apologetic air. “I’m sorry to report that the ship’s engine is failing, and we won’t be able to make it to Mexico. We’ve requested assistance, and we’ll be getting a tow into the closest Florida port shortly.” He nodded, and Michael responded in kind. I was too busy trying not to collapse right there in front of everyone. I looked at Michael, terrified already—panic welling up in my stomach, my heart pounding. Michael pulled me close to him, embracing me lightly and looking down into my face.

“I think you’d probably rather absorb this shock privately. Am I right?” I nodded, holding back the tears that stung my eyes with an effort. Michael led me quickly to his stateroom, and as soon as the door was closed behind us, I began to cry. I couldn’t believe it. After all of my careful planning, after everything—we were going to be back in the United States in a matter of hours. If my theft had been discovered, I was almost certainly heading to my arrest. Michael left my side for just a moment, bringing me an impossibly soft handkerchief. I had to pull myself together. I took a deep breath, closing my eyes a moment and dabbing at my makeup to fix it. Michael brought me a drink—a shot of something over ice—and I knocked it back, appreciating the burn as it went down.

I was sitting on the bed without really knowing how I had gotten there and Michael leaned in and kissed me lightly on the lips. Between the alcohol and my own fairly certain doom, I decided that, if tonight was going to be my last night as a free woman, I would enjoy myself to the fullest. I deepened the kiss, probing Michael’s mouth with my tongue to taste the faint bitterness of beer riding on the sweetness of his lips. His hands started to move all over my body quickly, teasing my breasts and caressing my waist. After several long moments, he broke away from the kiss, smiling faintly down at me. “I have an idea,” he murmured, stepping back and moving towards the wardrobe.

“Oh?” I asked, intrigued. I hoped that his idea would be along the lines of mine.

“Your main fear right now is the loss of your freedom, correct?” I nodded, and watched as Michael freed the pair of handcuffs from the wardrobe door. “Then I think you should have a taste of captivity. After all, if you’ve already experienced it, you can hardly be afraid of it, right?” My eyes widened as I realized what he was implying. My mouth began to water, and I felt my pussy getting wet at the suggestion.

“I think that’s a great idea.” Michael crossed the distance between us and pulled me up into a standing position. He took me in slowly, his cold blue eyes almost caressing me as he considered what he would do.

“Well, first, I think we need to give you the experience of a strip-search.” He set the handcuffs down on the bed and went to work unbuttoning my dress in quick, impersonal movements. Michael methodically moved all the way down the front of the outfit, and as the fabric started to fall to the sides, I felt myself getting more excited—feeling more exposed. He tugged at the sleeves, pulling it away from my body, his face set in stern, uncaring lines as he gave me a little shove away from the bed and closer to the center of the room. He followed me, pulling my bra straps down from my shoulders and reaching around to the back to unlatch it before giving it a quick jerk off of me and tossing it aside. My breasts were quivering as he went next to my panties, almost ripping them off of me with brutal efficiency and leaving me standing in front of him, naked except for my shoes.

“Take off your shoes,” he said curtly, gesturing. I crouched on the floor and unbuckled the straps on my heels, slipping them off of my feet. Even though I knew it was play—that I was as safe as I could be with any stranger—I felt a pulse of intimidation as Michael stood over me, watching me with cold eyes. I didn’t want to stand up, to let him see me naked—even when he had stripped me down before, I hadn’t felt so exposed. “Stand.” I slowly stood up, not quite able to make eye contact, trapped in the role already. Michael stepped closer to me and kicked my legs open. “Arms out,” he commanded. I extended my arms, and he began to run his hands over my body, at first with the same impersonal touch that he had used in unbuttoning my dress, but gradually becoming more aggressive, squeezing each of my breasts hard; he knelt down in front of me, running his hands over my legs, upward until he came to my pussy.

I fidgeted as he cupped my wet pussy with one hand, rubbing me slowly. “Don’t move.” I tried to remain still, even though I could feel all of the muscles in my body twitching, my legs straining with the effort of remaining still when the friction of Michael’s hand against me was so delicious—but also so intimidating. My arms were already starting to ache from holding them up and spread in the air. Michael began to rub my pussy more firmly with the heel of his hand, and I gasped, becoming more and more wet with every passing moment. He suddenly spread my labia and plunged two fingers inside of me and I cried out, surprise mingled with pleasure mingled with pain, with a sense of almost-violation. “Quiet,” Michael said firmly, slapping the inside of my thigh with his free hand. “Are you carrying anything in your cunt, Solly?” he asked me, probing deeper into my pussy with rough, aggressive strokes of his fingers. I shook my head, shocked that he remembered my last name. “Answer verbally.” I swallowed against the sudden dryness of my throat; it was amazing, the way the opulence of his stateroom had fallen out of my gaze just by enacting these roles.

“N-no,” I mumbled, as Michael’s fingers pushed up painfully deep inside my pussy. His palm rested against my clit, rubbing it slowly as he fingered me. He found my g-spot and pressed against it with his fingertips, roughly stroking it until I was gasping, blushing—torn between pleasure and humiliation. He slapped the inside of my thigh again.

“You say ‘no sir,’ Solly. Understood?” I nodded quickly, trying to regain my ability to speak.

“Yes sir.” Michael withdrew his fingers, standing quickly and stepping around me before I could react to the sudden change. His hands moved over my back, and I could feel my fluids on his fingers as he lightly touched my shoulder blades, moving down to my hips. As he reached my ass, he paused, and his touch left me. I started to turn my head, startled at the absence.

“Face forward.” I turned back so quickly that I was briefly dizzy; my ears strained, and I could almost imagine the muscles in them stretching, as I tried to hear what he was doing, tried to make out what would happen next. I stared in front of me, seeing and not seeing, everything becoming a blur except as all of my attention focused on the soft, slight sounds; I heard the muted click of a wooden mechanism, the creak of a hinge, the snap of a closing door. I could almost discern the sound of Michael’s feet against the floor, approaching me again from behind. It was a shock to my listening body when one of his hands came to rest on my hip, holding onto the curve of my pelvis tightly, rooting me in place. He began to run his hands over my ass cheeks, squeezing them slightly, parting them and exposing me even more. I felt my face heating up from the blood that rushed to my head even as my nipples hardened from the combination of fear and arousal. “Are you carrying anything inside your ass, Solly?” My heart fluttered—the sudden knowledge of exactly what was about to happen raking needles against my nerves.