Winning Ways

So, what do I do now?

I was staring at the cheque from the European Lottery Company. £75m or about $150m was the sum I'd won. It was as tense a time having the money as it was the week before having nothing but a monthly pittance of a wage from my business and no sense of what direction I was facing in. However, this tension was of a different sort.

I began to think again about what Nirvana had said to me two weeks before. We'd had yet another difficult discussion. It followed me asking her for the umpteenth time to marry me. To be fair, she was nothing but straightforward and honest.

"Paul, I can't take the risk of marrying you when you are so poor. I'm a single mother and I have to protect my daughter. Your business is too risky and I can't see us living in my tiny house."

And then she had followed with something that I now realised gave me possibilities, options.

"Look, I love you dearly, don't mistake me, and I would do anything for you but not marriage unless I can have security. If you've got that, then I'd do anything in that marriage as well."

She said that with such a 'come-on' in her voice. Then she had snaked her long dark-skinned legs over me, straddling my thighs and kissing me lustily and long. No more had been said. She'd slipped her hand down between us, feeling my rapidly hardening cock before lifting her already hitched-up skirt even higher and guiding me past flimsy panties and between her ready cunt lips. There was that perpetual contrast between the protective mother and the sensual, hungry whore in the bedroom. Yet, even in these sudden switches of mood, I sensed Nirvana still not really letting go, keeping a bit of herself back. Where was she going in her head and body at those times?

"Ok," I said to myself, "I'll find out. I know what to do."

Yes, I'd had a flash of sheer inspiration. I was on the 'phone like a shot to my old friend and personal lawyer, Imogen Banks-Golden. I know, what a name! She was from a very poor family in Lancashire, like me, but had got to University and latched onto the ugliest, fattest but richest student in the College. Keeping her name of Banks, she'd hyphenated it with the 'Golden' part. Now don't get me wrong readers, there are fat people who are incredibly beautiful including a few BBW's whom I have loved and fucked happily and enthusiastically, but this guy had been in the way when the ugly stick was being pointed.

His family had been Goldenstein up to the Second World War when they left Germany and settled in the East End of London. It was an apt name, as dealing in precious metals and stones was their trade and they built a significant international empire. However, little Hymie was their only son and heir, and he was fussed over and spoilt rotten by his mother in true Yiddish style. So, by the time he met Imogen, he was a bloated, spoilt and arrogant man with a face ravaged by poor diet and too much acne.

They married quickly, and Imogen made it her duty to fuck him daily, through period and non-period days. She was Oxbridge's Wife of Bath, leaving him exhausted and unable to get to most early lectures.

How do I know this? I was the other man she fucked for fun. I was the lover who really serviced her true needs; for domination, for masochistic pleasures that Hymie could never be persuaded to take part in. I was the one who sent her back to him with deep red stripes across her shapely arse, cunt lips stinging from punishment and nipples aching and breasts bruised. He knew he was part of her masochism, to be the ugly man who humiliated her by walking out with her, by letting her sit naked and splayed over his enormous frame and fuck with the layers of fat rippling rhythmically over his body. But he loved her so much. With him she was the first woman who had ever shown a real interest in him, listened to his stories, cared for him, and most significantly, given him the strength to stand up to his fussing mother.

When University ended and they left with Imogen achieving a First that guaranteed she was going on to study Law, and worn out Hymie a third rate degree and a ticket straight into his father's company, I drifted away to various relationships. Eventually I married a woman from the other side of the tracks with no money, no interests, no intellect, and just the best ability to fuck as if it was the only way to exercise. That was until the baby clock started ticking, and then she joined the legions of mothers who forget their spouses and put their lives into the mewling, puking brat in the buggy.

Imogen continued to stay in touch, sometimes making excuses to come see me. She'd join my wife in sado-masochistic games; always ending up whipped and striped from those full breasts to the souls of her feet. Karen, my then wife, would lie in front of her, her shaven cunt open, receiving the administrations of Imogen's wonderfully long tongue that lathed across her swollen labia and down to her anus. She loved to humiliate Imogen, lifting her knees to her equally full breasts to make her other hole as open to our friend as possible.

"Yes, lick my arsehole, lick it, whore!"

With those words what could I do but 'punish' Imogen for being such a perverted woman? I would increase the power of my strokes, my cock standing hard to my belly as I took pleasure in the growing matrix of red stripes that rose like scars over that firm, smooth landscape.

But why do I mention this, apart from feeling the instant hardness grow in my pants as I recall it? Well, Imogen had continued to provide all my legal advice over the years, always in exchange for me providing services in kind that only the Marquis de Sade could rival. I also gave consultancy services to their Company, especially after the Father-in Law died and her husband took over the business. Imogen insisted I be paid at the top rate in the market. Hymie never batted an eyelid at my charges, always seeming pleased that I had served (or was it serviced?) his wife so well; probably because in the weekends she came to stay, he got a rest from her endless demands to fuck. However, Hymie had died a few months ago, not surprisingly in bed during one of their ritual morning sessions. Yes, The Wife of Bath had a killer cunt! She'd rung me sounding genuinely distressed the morning it happened, though once his body was cold she was in my office displaying some very inappropriate behaviour for such a recent widow. She'd left his grieving mother to sort out the funeral arrangements and 'had to get out, because the bitch is being such a pain, darling.'

A few weeks later Hymie's will was read out and she had been left the Company in its entirety and a lump sum of £10m from his private funds. That was on top of the five houses, the yacht in Monaco and the chateau they had begun to renovate in the South of France. She asked me to do a review of the business and consult her on what was best to do with the houses and businesses. Of course she added her own brand of bonus payments, and the Chateau D'Or near Beziers, which took on a whole new building plan on my direction, became our favourite place for me to collect.

Now I needed her consultancy and help to develop a very special contract for me. We arranged to meet the very next day.

______________________

"Welcome Imogen."

There was no smile from me. This was part of our trade. I was to take control and dominate from the start.

"Take off your coat, slut."

She glanced across, noticing that the blinds to the office were open. Anyone in an upstairs room of the overlooking building opposite would see her.

"I said, take off your coat, slut. What's the problem?"

"Yes, master, but...."

"When I tell you to do something you do it, understand?"

There was silence. Her eyes seemed to be trying to find some spot on my newly fitted carpet. I even found myself following her gaze, so intent was she on looking at that one particular area. I smiled to myself. She was in role. She was mine. It was confirmed as she slowly began to unbutton the long leather coat, so incongruous on such a hot summer's day.

The ever so slow revelation of first one full, natural breast and then the other made me quietly suck in air. Her nipples were as hard as diamonds, and projecting her shame. More buttons. The lightly bronzed skin shone under the office downlights and as her shaven mons was revealed to my intense gaze, I saw that she had been investing in a new collection of jewels. Her clitoral hood and labia were bedecked with diamond studded gold rings.

"So, is your cunt an investor's paradise now as well?" I asked sneeringly, mocking her for her wealth, knowing I was now her peer financially. I spat the word 'cunt' out like it was something to be regarded with disdain, knowing how she would feed on the humiliation.

"No sir, I had it done specially for you, but..."

"Shut up, whore, I don't want to know. Go crawl to the window, stand up and close the blinds, then get back on all fours like the bitch dog you are and crawl back to me."

I could see her sex lips glistening. This was arousing her intensely, yet there was hesitation again.

"If you are seen by my neighbours then all well and good. Perhaps Mrs Shah can be persuaded to leave that religious nut of a husband and join us," I joked, knowing the young woman in the flat opposite was kept a virtual prisoner by her fundamentalist partner. He was one of those who chose to distort the writings of his religion so he could keep his woman under foot. She wasn't there in a consensual way judging from the pleading look in her eyes that I had seen in those rare glimpses out on the street.

I stared at her with an aching desire to push my dick hard between her arse cheeks as she crawled for me; her firm buttocks high and the little puckered opening so inviting. It was almost too much imagining piercing that secret place whilst running my hands over the suspenders and stockings she had worn on my instruction. But no, it was as much fun to be the voyeur, watching her sex entice and sway between her legs, and the anus pucker like a kiss at me. It was also enjoyable to know that she was dirtying and probably laddering a perfectly good pair of stockings. Her ridiculously high-heeled shoes would be scuffed too as she crawled. How pleasing to force her to spend on new things, I thought. How delightful to have as much money to waste as she had. What a delicious thought after years of scrimping and saving, living on my business overdraft. Almost better than sex. No, nothing is better than that. Well, not when it is at the end of a lengthy BDSM scene.

And this was going to be one of those, with an unusual twist.

Imogen was crawling back; her head low but it was easy to see from the fiery red of her ears that she was shamed and embarrassed. She stopped at my feet, forehead to my Church's brogues.

"So, did anyone see you then?"

"Yes, master," she said, her voice quiet and with a slight tremor to it.

"Who?"

"It was that woman opposite. She was staring and staring at me and..." "And what?"

"Her hand gestured...to her breast...it was only fleeting but it was so...obvious!"

Hmmm, I thought. Just as I had suspected.

"You did well, slut. Now, suck on this."

I had my cock out, hard and throbbing. I knew she loved its thick and lengthy meat deep in her throat, and I enjoyed seeing her lipstick paint the shaft as she enveloped me with soft and full lips. As she raised her head, keeping her arse high like a primate, I saw the lusty smile on her face. What a beautiful, pervy woman.

And what an amazing feeling as she served my aching cock. But this was the entrée. I had other needs to be delivered on my menu.

"Suck slut...suck and drink it all down."

I came quickly. I had no desire to hold back. I watched almost dispassionately despite the shivers of orgasm that rippled through my body. I painted her throat with repeated spurts of hot cum. I was noting whether she spilt a drop, hoping she would so that I could punish her but she cleaned me up from my cock-head to the base of my balls. She knew my exacting standards and had accepted them long ago.

I could see and feel the hunger. I knew she loved it.

"Good slut," I said, praising her obedience.

"Thank you, Master."

"Now come to the desk and sit on it, facing me."

I gestured for her to sit on the centre of the large oak desk, but with her legs wide open, facing my black leather office chair and with her feet on its arms. I said nothing, but reached out to her cunt, plucking at each piece of jewellery; pulling the fine workmanship and stretching her cuntlips as much as was possible. She was so good, not flinching one bit, but her sex flowed with its own honey.

"Wet little cunt isn't it?"

"Yes, Master," she whispered, head down, eyes never meeting mine. Beautiful. Subservient just as I wanted her.

"Right slut, take that pad and pen to your right and take notes of what I have to say. You are to say nothing unless it is a question relevant to what I want you to do for me. Also, your face must not react to what I say either."

"Yes, Master," she said, voice bolder now; her body twisting to pick up the items. Her tits swinging freely, and the nipples so obviously aroused, it was hard to not push her back and fuck her there and then, but that was for later.

"Give me the riding crop to your left."

She twisted the other way now, picking up the leather tipped crop. She knew that she would be punished if she deviated from my instructions, but then that was the fun for her and for myself. I equally knew she would be unable to stick to these rules. That naughty side would crave its punishment.

I accepted the crop, given to me correctly in both hands and with a gentle kiss of its handle. I smiled and felt my cock rise, still free of my business suit. I slashed the crop down hard on the desk between her open thighs, watching her wince and then smile, inviting.

"Right, now listen, whore. I have won £75m on the lottery."

I watched her face, inscrutable. Shame. I wanted to strike her impudent breasts, so firm and full, so proud.

"Oh, you are cool aren't you?"

"If you say so Master."

I struck hard and fast across her right tit. She was caught out, breaking my instruction. Her scream was muted, but I knew it had hurt. Her thighs pulsed slightly; the creamy honey flowing as pleasure overtook her pain. Her essence was sweet and wonderful in the air. I laughed at my trickery.

"Now listen! I have met a new woman who frustrates me with her reluctance to marry me. She believes I am poor and of course I was bar the overdraft on the business and the services of my slut. She knows I am divorced and that I am a fucking good lover."

I stopped, scanning her face and body for reactions. Nothing. I had deliberately put that arrogant statement in.

"She seems to be implying that no matter how much we love each other she will not give herself fully to me. She wants first to have guarantees that I am solvent, that her daughter will be safe -- the bloody spoilt bitch that her eighteen-year-old is -- and that we move to a bigger house (which of course I could not do when penniless). Only then will she give me 'everything' as she puts it."

Not a move, not a sound. Impressive; especially for a mainly naked and open-legged woman. How did she look so regal wearing so little? My cock twitched and strained, hoping her composure would break.

"I want you to draw up a marriage contract. I want it to be a pre-nuptial that we both will sign and that contains some specific clauses that both protect me financially now but also specify what 'anything' will mean in the marriage."

"Can I please ask what the financial protection you want to build in should be?"

"Simple, if we split I want her to accept that she will be entitled to what she came in with, plus £1m only. Her bitch of a daughter can have 50,000 pounds only. I would also insist that she keeps the house under let, just in case. If there is any mortgage or loan against it, then I will pay that off. I doubt a divorce will happen but I want safeguards."

"Very sensible Sir."

I striped her left breast with four strokes in quick succession.

"You forget so easily."

"Sorry Master."

Her face was a picture. She realised her mistake too late.

Four strokes of the crop striped the right tit. She stifled another scream. I laughed, heartily, enjoying watching her go from pain to an expression akin to orgasm, but not quite there... yet.

"There are some sexual practices that she, Nirvana, is resistant to. In fact she has some serious hang-ups about sex. It's a complete paradox. One minute she is a horny bitch, pushing my head between her legs to lick her shaven pussy but then will avoid being kissed once my face is covered with her cunt juice. Do you think that is weird? Also, if she pisses or shits at home or a relatives she has a shower immediately afterwards. Her cunt has no smell it is washed so frequently. When working or travelling, she will hold back her shit until she is home. Then she has gut problems, the stupid bitch, from that holding back. If she has to squat and piss or use a public toilet, she will wash and wash if there is a sink. However I have known her hold her piss until when home she has wet her panties dashing to the toilet. On those occasions she has laughed afterwards, as if there was some pleasure gained but she would not admit it. There is over many things a sense that behind the repression is a slut of a woman wanting to get out.

So, what does this have to do with you?" I stopped, noticing her face.

The stripe made over her left titty was inevitable. I had seen the quizzical look. She had failed my order, much to her chagrin and my pleasure. I smiled, pleased with her discomfort.

"I want a clause included that states she will as part of our marriage agreement receive exactly one quarter of my remaining fortune after payments (of my choosing) to my children and ex-wife. To receive the total sum of about £18.5m, which will be given in stages over a 15 year period (with cumulative interest of course) she is to agree to sexual therapy with the clinic of my choice. Make sure that there is no get-out clause in the wording. I know exactly who she is going to, but she is not to be aware of what type of therapy this will be or how I will ensure she is 'loosened up'."

"Yes, Master."

The rapid flick of the whip across her pussy must have seriously hurt, yet she made no change of expression. Only her body moved, absorbing the pleasure and the pain. Good girl, but of course that is not what I told her.

"You are a disobedient slut today. I think you will be going home looking like a burger fried on a griddle. I'm going to criss-cross your body mercilessly."

God, I was hard! I wanted to really punish her. Did having all this money usually make people feel so powerful, almost invincible? Now I was on a roll. Here was my chance to really control more than just this slut who was there for the BDSM and the fucking. I could control the woman I loved and it was not incompatible to love her and humiliatingly control that dusky maiden. I knew that would give me the greatest pleasure.

"Also, I want it written in to our agreement that she will dress to please me. In particular, she will never wear knickers again unless it is a hygienic necessity. Do not specify precisely when that might be, as I want it written in that such times will be agreed with me.

Finally, I promise to her the greatest pleasure. I pledge that my whole focus will be her happiness. She will never have to lift a finger to cook, clean or shop unless those activities bring her personal pleasure. Her currently badly spoilt daughter will be well cared for. Put in some positive wording, but suggest -- and only suggest, do not make it a promise -- that should I be given joint rights to bring up the child I will give the young woman a significant sum when she achieves an appropriate age and level of maturity. Imply that I will expect some changes in methods of punishment and reward. Tell her that she may wish to consult her daughter to ensure she knows there is a choice: her mother need not marry me and have access to such a fortune and she can be free to do as she does now. That should challenge the Bitch's mind.