Bought By The Billionaire novel Chapter 37

My Master steps over the threshold, carrying me in his arms. My huge white meringue of a dress catches on the handle, and he struggles through the door with me and it together. I giggle, as he makes complex manoeuvres trying to get himself, me and the dress all through the door together.

“Welcome home, Mrs Haswell,” he says.

Smiling, running his hand over the bodice of my wedding-gown, his deep blue eyes are almost glowing. “You look beautiful in this dress, Elizabeth. But on the whole, I think I want to get you out of it.”

Sucking my lips in anticipation, “Yes, um, I think you’re going to have to help me.” The dress is boned, buttoned, laced and cinched in tight.

He looks the dress over from all sides. “Er, yes, I see what you mean. Not so much a dress as a construction. How did you get into it?”

“Francis helped. She did up all the buttons at the back. And the laces.”

He starts at the back, pulling at laces, trying to loosen the bodice. After several unsuccessful minutes, during which I become more and more giggly, he begins to lose patience.

“Think I’m going to need oxy-acetylene kit to get through these.” he mutters, then “Oh to hell with this! Bend over woman. Let your husband at you.”

“What are you going to do?”

“Find out what you ‘something blue’ is.”

“You’re just an Old Romantic aren’t you.?”

“Wife, I Love You. And in a while, I’m going to make love to you. But right now, I need to fuck you.” His creamy voice is thick with lust, and my own desire is rising to match. This is my husband. I love him passionately. And now we are together, forever.

And I want him inside me, right now, with a feral passion I would not have credited before I knew him.

Beginning to pant, I bend forward over the back of the couch, as he winches the skirts and hoops of my dress over my head, followed by the train. Enwrapped in layers of silk, satin and lace, blinded in my strange white world, I can see nothing of what he is doing. I cannot smell the hot scent of his arousal, but I hear him quite clearly, an affectionate whisper through the filmy layers of fabric.

“I realise that, traditionally, we should consummate this in the marriage bed, but right now, I have a raging hard-on and a deep need to fuck my wife ‘til she bleats.” As he rummages through layers and depths of skirts and petticoats, pushing them all up and over me, he finally achieves his destination. I feel the coolth of air, now free to move around my thighs and waist.

“Mmmm… blue panties,” he comments. “Makes a change from green. But the evidence tells me that we don’t need them.”

He’s right. Already, my pussy is warming to the thought of my Master, my husband, ‘fucking me ‘til I bleat.’ I can feel the ‘evidence’, the growing damp patch on the crotch that invites my Master in.

Fingers tug at the side laces of the flimsy garment, unlacing first one side and then the other. Firm, warm hands run over my now naked derriere, squeezing and cupping, pulling the cheeks apart.