Dominated - A Valuable Lesson

Bound and gagged on her knees, she belonged to him and he would use her any way he saw fit.

A handful of her short, jet-black hair gripped in his hand, as he took her from behind, her pleasured moans stifled by the stocking tied around her mouth.

She bit down on the silk gag as his impressive cock smashed her aching pussy, her hands struggling against the silk restraint binding them behind her back.

The only thing stopping her from falling was his hand gripping her hair, but she trusted him implicitly.

He was very careful of his possessions, and she belonged to him.

Dominic Greenplace, the thirty-seven-year-old self-made tech billionaire, had returned from work early, angry, stressed. He'd had big plans for the day and now they were in tatters, all thanks to her. She had ruined everything and now she needed to be taught a lesson.

***

The previous night had been their first together, having only met that same morning at a disastrous job interview, and from then on he had set about dominating her life.

First, he had sent a limo to whisk her around the most exclusive beauty salons and wellness centres in the city, culminating in a complete physical transformation. She had started the day as a brunette with medium-length brown hair, a respectable bush, and questionable nails.

By the end, she had short, jet black hair cut into a bob, her nails were immaculate, and her bush was non-existent, having arranged for her to have her entire body waxed. She was now, from the neck down, as smooth as a Barbie doll. All done to his specific requirements, he was making her into the object of his desire.

Returning from dinner, he strapped her to the bed, teasing her vulnerable, delicate body, where he took his time preparing her before easing his weighty cock into her desperate pussy.

He had ravaged her, taking full advantage of her tight, wet cunt, cumming deeply inside, filling her with his seed, a conclusion he had already agreed to, before they both fell asleep on the floor, wrapped in the duvet taken off the bed.

When she had awoken, she was alone, wearing nothing but the silk stockings he had ordered her to keep on.

Downstairs, she found a note telling her he had an early morning meeting and that their lessons would continue later. Next to this, she found a whole assortment of sex toys, chosen, she assumed, especially for her.

In the meantime, she didn't know what to do. She had returned to the room to find all her clothes had gone, all bought by him and left in her apartment whilst she was being styled, even the ridiculously tall heels she could barely walk in, the ones that had stuck in her ass whilst she cleaned his cock with her mouth.

She went back downstairs and entered the kitchen. Large enough to cater for a professional restaurant, it was immaculate, the equipment was top-of-the-line. It was surely overkill for one man living alone, but he was never one to do things by half-measures.

In the corner, she found a coffee maker, sleek and stylish, the brand of which she had never heard. After a bit of playing, she managed to get it whirring and the cup (which she had to hunt through several cupboards to find) filled with warm brown liquid.

The smell was divine, a deep, rich aroma in stark contrast to the bitter instant coffee she drank while she had been working as a TA at the university.

The machine stopped, the mug filled to the brim. She picked it up and walked back into the main area, her stockinged feet warmed by the underfloor heating.

She pulled a stool up to the floor-to-ceiling windows and sat down, admiring the view from the ninety-seventh floor.

It was sprawling and impressive, skyscrapers and high rises projecting phallically into the air. And here she was, looking down on all of them, completely cut off from the outside world, in her very own luxury cocoon.

She saw her own reflection in the glass and it took her a moment to recognise it. Her hair, once brown, was now cropped and black, her fingernails perfectly manicured, the red nail polish (which doubtless had a far more precise name) shining in contrast to the plainness of the white mug. She stuck out her feet, even through the stockings she could see they matched perfectly.

Her skin was smooth and supple, having been worked on by a team of highly-skilled Japanese women, who had soothed her skin after she had undergone a full body wax. She blushed as she remembered one woman's fingers as they worked expertly on her pussy, soothing and calming the skin, and how she had accidentally brought the exposed Chloe to orgasm.

Even though she found the experience embarrassing, she felt a warmth grow between her legs as she recalled the events.

She shuffled slightly on the stool and took a sip of her coffee, continuing to examine herself in the glass, casting her eyes over her entirely hairless body.

Wanting a closer look, she slipped off the stool and, coffee in hand, examined her reflection. She couldn't recall a time when she had been so smooth. He had even ordered them to remove the entirety of her pubic hair. He had claimed this wasn't a sexual thing, but rather a display of dominance, a test to see if she would succumb to him. It was a test she passed.

None of it had been of her choosing, and if it had, she would have looked completely different. But, she couldn't deny she looked good.

She thought about the dolls she had as a child, how she used to play with them, dressing them up in different outfits, dictating their styles and their lives.

Now she was his doll, his plaything, and she was quickly growing to like it.

She looked at her reflection in profile, and liked what she saw. She was in good shape, even if she hadn't gone to the gym in forever (one of the wonders of youth, she mused). Her ass was tight and smooth, and, as she ran her fingers over it, soft to the touch.

Her breasts were, obviously, impeccable. They had always been her favourite assets, big but not too big, yet still firm, defying gravity, her nipples pointing to the sky as if in celebration of a glorious victory. Salutations to the Gods above.

She cupped one in her free hand, lifting it gently, inspecting it, then letting it go, watching it bounce gently before returning to its original position.

She ran her hand down over her flat belly, and over the area just above her clit, stripped bare.

It was a strange sensation not to feel the short, wiry hairs where she had always maintained a certain presence, a tribute to her feminist ideals. They had made her feel like a woman, but now it was he who made her feel like a woman. With that thought, her attention returned to the dull ache between her legs, where he had thoroughly penetrated her last night.

She had been amazed at the size of him, even before he was erect. She had seen old pictures of him in his parent's garage, taken as they worked to immortalise their genius son, unwittingly recording the founding of what would become a multi-billion dollar company.

Or maybe they always knew their son would grow up to be a great success. He was, after all, incredibly intellectually gifted, even as a child.

Still, his parents had ensured he didn't skip any grades and did not attend university at thirteen (which he very easily could have). No, they didn't want him to burn out, to peak too early as so many other child prodigies did. They wanted him to have a normal childhood.

Even so, from what she remembered from the article she had read in some waiting room or other, he was far from normal. A shy, socially awkward child who struggled to make friends, much preferring his own company to that of his classmates.

That awkwardness continued through his adolescence, and through most of his university years.

Whilst he did (as far as she could recall) have a couple of girlfriends during that time, it wasn't until he developed his first successful medical treatment, which subsequently catapulted him into the limelight, that he became known as a playboy. Every week he had a different supermodel or a-list actress hanging off his arm, his increasingly muscular arms flexing under his increasingly expensive tuxedos. A sharp contrast to the weedy kid in protective goggles, who looked like a slight breeze would take him out.

But even back then, this bony twenty-something with limited sexual experience had been carrying a jackhammer in his trousers.

Maybe that was one of the reasons he was so shy, she thought. Maybe he was embarrassed by how much it deviated from the average (she had no doubt he had considered his dick in terms of standard deviations from the mean, that was precisely the kind of guy he was). Maybe women were intimidated by both its length and girth (for he was packing in all regards). Maybe it wasn't until he was rich and famous that he finally met women who were not only willing but eager to accommodate his thunderous cock.

Sometimes the only lubrication you need is billions of dollars, she thought, cynically, yet completely aware that people could say the exact same thing about her.

She was broke with questionable employment prospects (her best career option was returning to university to teach the liberal arts course she had enrolled in, which was not particularly appealing), and now here she was, in a one-hundred-million-dollar penthouse wearing nothing but stockings, her pussy aching from where a man she had met only briefly for the first time that morning had pounded her helpless pussy until he filled her with his bountiful load.

"You found the coffee maker, I see," came a voice from the living room.

She screamed, terrified, dropping the mug, sending shards of enamel and dark brown liquid all over the floor.

She wrapped her arms around her exposed body, and crouched behind the counter, looking for the source of the voice. She had thought she was alone, why else would she be walking around like this?

From the safety of her vantage point, she looked into the living room and saw the face of Domnic Greenplace, billionaire tech genius, and owner of said master cock, projected onto the ninety-inch TV screen.

"What the fuck? " she shouted. "I thought there was someone else here."

"Don't worry about that," he said alluding to the mug, "I'll get someone to clean it up."

"Can you hear me?" She asked, incredulously at the fact he seemed more concerned with the mug than with scaring her half to death.

"Of course. There are cameras."

"What? Where?"

"Well, everywhere," he said, irritation creeping into his voice. "For security."

"Who else has access?" she asked, feeling her privacy violated.

"Only me, for the moment," he said, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "I always make sure I am the only person who has access when I have... company."

"Can anyone else see me?"

"Of course not," he said, the strain beginning to show, as if her concern that her naked body might be being live-streamed to the board of investors was a minor trifle rather than a massive personal invasion. "The feed comes through to my private terminal."

"And who else has access?"

"No one."

"The IT department?"

"Look," he sighed. "It's been a long morning. The meeting went... not well. I didn't call to explain the technical specifications of the personal computer system I have set up in my office, or explain that it is on a completely different network to the one I use for work."

She could see he was tired, and started to feel guilty about being so upset, for not trusting him.

"I'm sorry," she said. "You just startled me."

"I am the only one who can see or hear you right now."

"I know. I trust you."

"It doesn't feel like it."

The words stung and she knew it was true. After all the talk of trust last night, after all the things she had let him do to her, here she was, questioning him.

"I know," she said, raising herself up from behind the counter, exposing her breasts to the screen. "Is there anything I can do to make it up to you?"

She circled around, avoiding the place she had dropped the cup and moved towards the screen, her beautiful, naked body on display.

He exhaled sharply. She was unsure whether this meant he liked what he saw, or was growing increasingly tired of her, as he had the night before, where she made a scene at dinner, getting drunk and making sexual innuendos, eating exclusive delicacies with her fingers like they were chicken nuggets.

Still, they had managed to move beyond that and he had taken her back to his, but not before stopping for a greasy burger and chips where he had demonstrated his physical prowess and quick temper, swiftly breaking a guy's wrist when he came at them with a knife.

Now she felt like she had in the restaurant. Her stomach sank, that guilty feeling rising up, waiting to be chastised for her unacceptable behaviour.

"Sit down," he said, sighing. "On the sofa."

She walked around the sofa, wondering which camera he was watching her from. Maybe he was watching her on all of them, a split-screen showing her from every angle.

She envisioned him looking at one of those old CCTV screens, with pixelated black and white squares showing the display of each camera.

She nearly laughed at how ridiculous that was. Of course, he was watching her in 8k high-definition technicolour. The only question was whether they could transmit in 3D. She had no idea about things like that, but he certainly would have the absolute top-of-the-line equipment.

She sat on the sofa, legs together.

"In the middle," he said wearily.

She scooted over gently, the leather sticking to her soft ass.

"Right," he said, as she finally settled into position. "Lean back."

She realised she had been holding herself perfectly upright, her knees together, her hands strategically folded in her lap. On her best behaviour.

She leaned back, looking up directly up at him as if he was towering over her. He noticed a red dot above the screen and wondered if that was the camera he was watching her through.

"Now," he said, "spread your legs."

She felt nervous, putting herself on display, but she obeyed, opening her legs, her hands on her knees.

"Wider," he said. She opened them more, giving him a full view of her pussy.

"Wider."

She stretched her legs as far as they would go, exposing herself to him, completely.

"Run your hands upwards. Slowly."

She ran her hands from her knees up over her stockings, enjoying the change in sensation when her hands slipped into her soft thighs.

She inched her hands upwards, then towards her pussy.

"Stop," he said. "I didn't tell you to do that."

"Sorry, I just thought..."

"You don't think. You just do." He took a breath. "Now, keep moving your hands upwards, slowly."

Her hands began to travel over her body again, inching up over her smooth mound, over her flat stomach. She could feel herself getting wet until his careful gaze, inspecting her for any violations of the rules.

Her hands continued upwards, until she was cupping her breasts.

"Stop." She obeyed.

There she sat, legs parted, breasts in hands, as he examined her, considered her.

"Stimulate your nipples between your fingers, but without moving your hands."

She took a second to realise what he meant, then, sliding her thumb and forefinger on each hand up, took her nipples and began to gently caress them, her breasts still securely cradled in her palms.

She moaned at the stimulation and was increasingly desirous to slip a hand down and touch herself, to slip her fingers into her exposed entrance.

She continued to caress her breasts and nipples, staring up at him whilst he stared down at her, watching intently.

She wanted something from him, some reaction, but he sat stone-faced, as if evaluating a car.

You've already taken me for a test drive, she thought. I'm all yours. Take me for a spin.

"Run your hands down."

She slid her hands downwards, missing the caress of her nipples, but excited for what was coming next, hopefully, her.

"Place them on your thighs. The top of."

Her hands slid to the top of her thighs. Even here she could feel the warmth of her pussy, the moistness building. She was desperate for release.

"Are you wet?"

She moved one hand.

"Stop."

It slipped back to where she was told.

"Are you wet?"

"Yes."

"Yes, what?"

"Yes, sir."

"Good girl. Now," he said, shifting slightly, the first sign of motion she had seen, "there is a small box on the table. Open it."

She thought about her next move carefully and tilted her body at the hips, reaching out with her hands, her legs still open wide. She flipped open the box, which she'd assumed contained controls for the TV or some such. Instead, she found something quite different.

A black onyx dildo.

"Pick it up, and sit back."

She picked up the object, cold and smooth to her touch, and returned to her previous position. She was surprised to find it was not actually stone, but a latex rubber with a remarkable design.

"Now," he said.

No further instruction followed, but she could see from the look in his eyes, she knew what he wanted to see next.

She ran the cool object gently over her inner thighs, circling her pussy, giving him a show, feeling the thrill of being in control.

"Now," he said.

Still, she continued to circle her entrance sliding it up between her lips, the tip parting them, getting wet. She rubbed it gently over her clit, moaning softly at the light stimulation.

He shifted in his seat again, uncomfortable at this turn of events.

"Now," he said, a sense of menace in the word.

She recognised she had teased him long enough and slipped the object down over her pussy lips, circling her entrance before slipping it into her dripping wet self.

She moaned as it entered her, sliding it all the way in with ease. After last night, she knew her platinum pussy could handle anything.

It wasn't very large, but the texture was remarkably stimulating. Even though it was smooth to the touch, as she pulled it in and out she would have sworn the sides were ribbed, the texture stimulating her in a variety of unique ways.

She moved it slowly, savouring the sensation, the relief. She began working it faster, never taking her eyes off the screen, never taking her eyes off him.

Every moan, every twitch, every drop of her desire was his.

He watched impassively as she fucked herself, her pussy juices glistening. She tilted it upwards slightly so it grazed the top of her pussy, directly underneath the clit, the g-spot.

She moaned with pleasure as she stimulated the area, losing herself with wild abandon to the sensation. She moaned loudly, louder than she ever had before. Up in the heavens, separated from the world, she was free to be who she was, able to express her deepest sexual desires freely without worrying about the neighbours next door. Ninety-seven storeys above the city, she was free.

She worked and worked at her pussy and could feel the climax building.

"I'm gonna cum," she moaned, right on the brink.

"Hold it."

"I can't".

"Hold it."

She tried her best, slowing her breathing, clearing her mind, but she was too far gone.

"I can't."

"Hold it," he demanded.

"Fuuuck," she groaned at the top of her lungs, giving herself fully to the orgasm coursing through her body.

She began to shake and quiver as the device stimulated her deep inside. She closed her eyes, her mind filled with nothing but the pleasure she was experiencing, of making it last as long as possible.

She continued to fuck herself, stimulating her g-spot, until, finally, the feeling passed.

She sat there, dildo still in her pussy, her hand feeling the wetness and warmth emanating from within. She opened her eyes and looked down, her body covered in a thin film of sweat, her skin glistening.