"The Rubicons which women must cross,
the sex barriers which they must breach,
are ultimately those that exist in their own minds"
-Freda Alder
CHAPTER ONE- THE NEGOTATIONS
"I own you now," the low sexy voice in her ear growled.
Emily felt herself being pulled even tighter to the wall of granite hard chest at her back. The hands gripping her biceps were strong and the fingers bit into her skin, not that she minded. She was grateful for the iron grip holding her; her bones had turned to liquid and the hands seemed to be the only thing holding her up at the moment.
The man at her back seemed to sense her arousal, or was it trepidation? He could smell the heady combination coming off of her as he buried his nose in her neck and inhaled. Either way, it was an aphrodisiac and it only seemed to intrigue him even more. He was, after all, quite enjoying the delicious way she was trembling in his arms and her breathing hitched.
"I like your tits, show them to me. I want to see you breathe," he commanded.
Emily felt the grip on her arms loosen and the heat at her back disappear when The Man stepped back; instantly missing it.
She was amazed at how much her body had reacted to him. There was something so raw about this man that she couldn't help but be attracted to him.
He stood about six foot two with ice blue eyes and short dark hair. His wide shoulders tapered to slim hips, flat rigid stomach, and long arms and legs that were roped with thick muscle. He had just enough tattoos to be sexy but not so many that it distracted from his good looks, and there was a hint of the nipple rings that he wore under his tight black ribbed shirt.
God, he was beautiful. And although he was pretty he was no mammas boy. He carried himself with a cool confidence that said don't fuck with me. And people didn't.
His most interesting feature, however, was his oversized penis. The Man's attorney had showed her photos of it during the negotiations and made it perfectly clear that based on his size that he might do some damage. And in all honesty, she had no doubt that he could.
It was the kind of cock that would make a porn star envious. It was a thick column of velvet covered steel that jutted out from a dense patch of carefully trimmed coarse coffee colored hair; as long as a women's forearm and so thick she wouldn't be able to close her fist around it. It really was a thing of beauty.
Emily shook out her nervous hands to do as he asked; fumbling with the tiny buttons until the gauzy material flopped to the sides and her breasts fell out, the material clung to the outside edges of her delectable breasts and sloped suggestively to her navel.
The Man stood silently behind her patiently watching... waiting...
Emily stiffened when The Man's arm swept around her waist and pulled her back into the granite wall again, his immense erection was propped against the small of her back and his breath feathered over the nape of her neck.
He greedily cupped the breasts that had been torturing him since the first moment he saw her. Her nipples seared his palm before his hands finally retreated to her hips and caressed them leisurely. An errant smile curved up on the edge his beautiful lips as he admired the peek of her panties each time the hem of her dress crept higher on her thighs.
Emily's eyes flickered to the oversized mirror that hung in front of them and she blushed when she realized he had been intently watching her reactions to him the whole time. The look he gave her was purely predatory, like an animal stalking its prey.
"Who owns you, little one?" He asked to the wide eyes staring back at him.
He did. She was slowly processing that fact as her mind raced over the details of how this unusual situation came about. How a well educated, independent, woman could willingly sign a contract for one million dollars to enter into sexual servitude with a man she just met, and an extra quarter million in it if her husband watched; a contract where this man could and would use her body as he saw fit.
She never gave her husband a chance to say no.
The negotiations hadn't been easy. The Man's attorney, who she suspected was also his bodyguard based on the fact that he was built like a line backer, was relentless in his questioning; asking very personal medical questions.
But those were nothing compared to the humiliating questions that came next. Questions like: How often did she masturbate and did she climax? Has she ever used a vibrator before and how big was it? What was the biggest size penis she's ever had in her?
All of which made her face burn and her husband pace back forth protesting each embarrassing question, wringing his hands so tightly that his knuckles had turned white.
"We're going to have to take pictures," the linebacker attorney said, grabbing an expensive digital camera and ignoring her husband's protests.
"Maam, if you wouldn't mind?" He motioned towards an elegant couch, "Your dress?"
"Oh, right," she mumbled looking over her shoulder at her husband as she sat down on the large couch. Chewing on her bottom lip, a nervous habit she hated, and raised the cool fabric above her hips.
The attorney kneeled in front of her snapping photos and looking bored. "Spread yourself please," he asked blandly.
Mortified at the mere thought, she held up a hand to silence the attorney. "Are you fucking insane? You know what; don't answer that. I'll do whatever you want." Emily had a feeling that the attorney wouldn't have taken the question rhetorically and would've given her some smartass answer she didn't want to hear.
Her hair was a silky curtain of black around her face as she bowed her head to hide the flush of her face and did as the attorney asked; tentatively sliding her fingers into the warm folds and peeling back the pink swollen furrows. The glossiness that coated her fingers glistened in the light.
The Man languidly sat in an overstuffed chair in the corner of the room, watching he negotiations with a stoic look. He kept his legs crossed and elbows resting on the arms of the chair, the amber of his untouched 50-year-old Dalmore scotch swirled in the crystal tumbler next to him.
He glanced at her supple full breasts and noticed that one was about to fall out of the slinky sundress. He could see the full outline of her nipple through the material and a hint of the dusky colored areola as it peeked out, just begging to be tasted. Fucking tease.
Emily hissed loudly and let out a breath she didn't know she was holding when a particularly sharp pinch to her nipples shook her out of her thoughts of the negotiations and back to the moment; back to the man who was talking seductively into her ear.
"Who owns you?" He repeated impatiently.
"You do," she stammered out quietly.
"Who?" he asked only because he liked the sound of her voice quivering and wanted to hear it again.
