His Indecent Demands (Bound and Shackled to the Billionaire) (2 page)

“I have something for you,” he says.

He pulls out the lower drawer of his desk and retrieves two objects. He shows them to her.

“Do you know what these are?”

“No.”

“You have never seen them before?”

“No, sir.”

“I forget. You are an innocent. Come closer and keep your legs apart.”

She shuffles closer to him.

He seizes a wedge of her right pussy lip. He ensnares her tender flesh with one of the objects. It’s a clamp in the shape of silver teardrop – much like a clipped earring. It is painless but relatively firm. The teardrop dangles from her labia, exerting its gentle gravity upon her tender flesh. The sensation is subtle and yet slyly erotic.

Her entire pubis clenches. She has never experienced such a sensation before.

“How do you feel?” he asks.

“It’s . . . strange.”

“Strange is good. You need to come out of your shell more. Try different things, and not just during this week.”

He repeats the process with her left pussy lip. Now both teardrops cling to her pussy, separated only by her clit – which is nudged and stimulated in ways she has never previously imagined by the clasps of the twin silver pendants. The metal is now warm, nourished by her flesh.

“I want you to keep these on all day.”

“You mean walk around in the office like this?” she says, aghast.

She can scarcely imagine it – she doesn’t even think she can
walk
with them. Having the clasps rub against her clit is a constant reminder of her servitude – the two teardrops gently swaying from her pussy lips and nudging her inner thighs.

Ohhhhh
.

“Yes. Walk with them. Sit with them. If you try to close your legs on them, you will find them quite intrusive. So I would advise you to keep your legs slightly open at all times.”

“B-but I have meetings to go to.”

“Then go to them.” His intense eyes arrest hers. “In no time at all, they will become second nature to you. You do not have to worry about them causing your labia any damage. These clamps are designed for long-term use. Now try walking around with them. Hold your skirt up and take a circuit.”

She walks around the room, aware that his gaze is following her bare, rolling buttocks. She wonders if he thinks she’s sexy. As she moves, the pussy clamps tremble, rendering her acutely aware of their shivery presence.

He is right. She cannot walk with her thighs too close together. Her entire pussy feels full, compressed, invaded,
outraged
. Her pulse beats rapidly against her neck.

“I see you have recovered from yesterday,” he says.

Indeed she has. She has looked at her buttocks in the mirror first thing that morning, and the red paddle marks are gone. No bruises either. No permanent damage, except to her pride.

“Turn around and walk towards me,” he instructs.

She pivots and walks towards him. The teardrops sway. She is grateful that they are sited too far from each other to clack, because that would be most embarrassing.

“You look beautiful this way,” he remarks, his expression admiring.

She blushes.

“Now let down your skirt. You may go back to work now. See me at five this evening.”

Five?

“Not six, sir? What about Mrs. Radcliffe?”

His eyes bore into hers. “I said five, Ms. Chalmers. It’s a Friday. Which part of five did you not understand?”

Chastised, she lets her dress fall, covering her clamped pussy.

“You may go now,” he says, turning back to his computer monitor.

Once again, she is being dismissed.

“Yes, sir.”

She walks towards the soundproofed door, and then she hesitates.

“Do you trust me, sir?”

He looks up, and she has to seize her breath again. Her tongue goes slightly dry.
No man has a right to be that beautiful
.

“Trust you in what?”

“Do you trust that I would not take the clamps off, sir . . . in any part of the day?”

He pauses, and then he smiles. “If I can’t trust you in this, why then would I trust you to be my Vice-President?”

She holds her breath.

Yes, he has a point – in a roundabout perverse manner.

“Yes, thank you. I’ll see you at five.”

“Make sure you arrive on the dot, not a second earlier or later. Punctuality also means not coming too soon,” he says.

She wonders if it’s a metaphor.

Before she can embarrass herself further, she mutters a quick goodbye and flees.

2

She spends the whole day being a wet, soaking mess down there.

The clamps are a constant source of stimulation – like a sand particle in an oyster. When she sits, she can feel her fluids pour out of her pussy, staining her dress.
How embarrassing
.

Worse still is the strategic meeting she is required to attend.

She is the first to arrive because she’s afraid of staining her skirt further and having everyone see the blotch on her dress. She quickly sits down when she hears footsteps outside the meeting room.

Leonard Drake pokes his head in.

“Oh, fancy seeing you here,” he says in mock surprise. “Getting a head start on everyone else?”

“Of course.” Her tone is molasses smooth.
I can’t let Leonard get to me if I want to be Vice-President. I can’t let anyone get to me.

“It’s not going to do you any good,” he says, smirking, striding into the room with the confidence of someone who is about to be made Vice-President. “See this?”

She almost cringes when he slides a dossier across to her. The title on the front cover says ‘BUCHANAN’. The clamps on her pussy lips choose that particular moment to shift. One of the teardrops thrusts itself into the cleft between her right pussy lip and clit.

Ohhhhh!
The sensation!

She has to use every ounce of her willpower to suppress her gasp.

“Open it,” he says.

She flips the front cover quickly, wanting him to move away.

“You OK?” He raises his eyebrows. “You look like you’ve eaten something bad.”

“As if that’s ever been a concern of yours, Leonard.”

“Oooh, touchy.” He jabs his finger at the inked signature at the bottom of the page. “That’s a cool five hundred million dollars worth of investment over five years, babe.”

Yes, she can see the figures clearly. She wishes there was a zero less, but her eyes do not deceive.

He says, “I don’t see you getting a deal like that in the next six days. When I’m VP and you are my subordinate, I’m going to put your nose to the grindstone. You’re not even going to glimpse a slice of daylight on weekdays, that’s a promise.”

He’s grinning, looking like he has swallowed a bowl of cream.

Her mouth flattens into a thin line. He would do it too in a heartbeat, she knows. That’s the shitty thing about being on the losing end of this VP job.

“Unless you tender your resignation, of course,” he adds slyly.

“Not over my dead body,” she says.

“That can be arranged.”

“Bastard.”

“Oooh, are we’re calling each other names now? Too bad my parents are married.”

“It isn’t over till Friday,” she reminds him.

“Might as well fast forward to Friday now to cut your agony short.”

She feels like punching him in the face, but it would be tantamount to assault and she would instantly lose her job – whether or not she’s fucking the boss.

Someone else enters the room, and they pipe down. Leonard grabs his dossier and flashes her an evil grin.

Damn damn damn.
The stakes have just been raised.

There’s no way in hell she’s going to keel over and let him have the job.

3

Four fifty nine sharp and she waits outside his door, afraid to knock lest he accuses her of being one minute early. Ms. Radcliffe is nowhere to be seen. Her desk has been tidied up, indicating that she has left for the weekend.

Susan counts thirty seconds before raising her fist to knock. But before she can make contact with her knuckles, one of the double doors opens.

Channing Crawford stands there, silhouetted against the windows, through which she can see the glorious afternoon skyline. He is as handsome as always, and the stunning force of his presence once again knocks her off her feet.

“Very punctual,” he says. “That’s good, Susan Chalmers. Now lift up your dress.”

“Here?” she says, looking around nervously.

“No one is here, in case that’s what you’re worried about.”

With trepidation, she raises the hem of her skirt to show him her still clamped labia.

“Very good. And did you take them off at any time today?”

“No.”

“Not even when you were on the toilet seat?”

“Not even then. I washed myself after I . . . urinated, sir.” She flushes.

“Very, very good indeed. I like a woman who can take orders.” He strides out of his room. “Let’s go.”

She lets her dress fall. His steps are long and she has to hurry to keep up.

“Where are we going?”

“No questions, Susan. You want to be surprised, don’t you?”

“I think so,” she says doubtfully as he jabs the button next to the elevator.

“I hope you are an adventurous woman.”

“Why?”

“Because we’re going to try something new.”

4

They are in his car, a black Porsche Carrera. She is seated beside him in this two-seater. The engine growls sleekly beneath her, and she can feel the carriage beneath her juddering with its rotations. His side profile is as sculptured as a classical statue’s, and she finds herself surreptitiously peeking at him now and again.

He glances at her, and she quickly averts her head. He has allowed her to take off the clamps. “To rest your pussy,” he said.

“You are nervous,” he now states.

She swallows and does not say anything.

“Are you afraid of me, Susan?”

“A little,” she concedes timidly.

No, take that back. A LOT. This man has the power to control her like an automaton, and that scares her more than anything.

“You are not like this in real life, are you?” he says. “From what I hear, you’re quite the go-getter.”

“I am, sir. That’s why I will make a great VP.”

“But you don’t want to stop at VP. Next, you’ll want to be President.”

“Yes.”

“That’s very admirable.”

“I believe I have the skill sets, sir.”

“I’ll be the judge of that. Unzip your dress, Susan.”

“What? You mean right here?”

Alarmed, she looks out of the window. Cars zip by around them. Correction: they are zipping past other cars, seeing as he drives fantastically fast.

“Yes. Do it. I want to see your tits.”

She hesitates. Is this a test? Why does she feel as though everything is a test?

He glances over at her expectantly.

I would require your absolute compliance, Susan. Once you have agreed, refusal of any of the requests is not an option.

She takes a deep breath. She reaches behind her dress for the zipper that runs from her neck to her midriff. A soft
kraaack
sounds as she pulls it down as far as it would go. The upper half of the dress becomes loose, and she shrugs it off her shoulders. She is wearing a blue La Perla brassiere today – pretty with elaborately decorated floral motifs.

She knows what he wants her to do. She unhooks her bra. The straps come off, and her breasts spill out – large, firm and bouncy. Her nipples are already erect, and her sudden exposure begets another outpouring of pussy juices. She hates to admit it, but she’s extremely turned on by this.

She darts a frightened glass out of the window to see if anyone is looking. The cars are still going past, but if they stop at a traffic light, she will be caught like a naked deer in the headlights.

He steers the car with one hand. With the other, he reaches out and tweaks her left nipple. She sucks in her diaphragm, relishing the delicious sensations. He rolls the tip between his thumb and forefinger, all the while applying more and more pressure.

She moans softly.

“You like this, don’t you?”

“Yes, sir.”

She wishes he would take her nipples into his mouth. She wishes he would suckle them and run his tongue over the tips. But he has never gone oral on any part of her. She wonders if he is an oral person.

He pinches more of her areola, gathering more flesh into the tight bud. Then she sees what’s ahead and freezes.