Billionaire Building BDSM – BDSM


“Billionaire Building BDSM”

by J.D. Savanyu

Chloe raises her slender arms high in the air, waiting patiently for me to tie her to a stainless steel bondage platform in the penthouse suite of the “Billionaire Building” (or, as rich folks like me call it, One57.) A thousand-foot needle-like skyscraper on Central Park South, with the top floor all to myself. That twenty-something redhead sprite is wearing nothing but a spiky leather dog collar and a naughty smile, two hours after playing Little Red Riding Hood in Into The Woods.

“I wonder what the cast would say, if they knew I was getting kinky with the twentieth-richest man in the world,” Chloe muses as I wrap some nylon rope around her wrists and through a pair of metal rings on the top crossbar.

“They’d probably call you a hypocritical gold-digging skank.”

“Whatever you say, Rupert Wolf.”

“Actresses always claim to be ‘woke,’ bitching and moaning about ‘economic injustice,’ but they never pass up an opportunity to fuck a billionaire.”

“And we make damn sure to get fifty percent when we divorce their sorry asses.”

I didn’t bring her up here to listen to her big Broadway mouth. I brought her up here to whip her cute little tits and drill her tight little pussy… but a little witty repartee makes the action more erotic. I play some baroque chamber music on my iPhone to set a dark mood, then I get into my usual white-collar dominator character in a three-piece tuxedo.

“Spread those dancing legs, bitch.”

“Ooh, how predictable,” she snickers while spreading them nice and wide. “A billionaire calling a poor girl a bitch.”

I fasten her slender ankles to two rings on the lower crossbar, then I gaze out at the Empire State Building in the middle distance, illuminated with red and green Christmas colors. Reminding me of the heart I used to have, before I turned into a Wall Street grinch.

“Tis the season to be jolly,” I croon sarcastically. “But first, The Big Bad Wolf is hungry for some gingerbread.”

I go over to my big shelf full of toys, and pick out a big ol’ cat o’ nine tails with metal rivets on each leather strap, to enhance the sting.

“My, what a big cat you have,” Chloe enunciates in her well-rehearsed Little Red character from the classic Sondheim musical. “I’m not afraid of the Big Bad Wolf, or Virginia Woolf. You probably whooped her pussy too.”

“Shut the fuck up.”

I swing the cat in a brisk underhand motion, impacting her neatly shaved crotch with a crisp thwack. She emits a high-pitched yelp as a literal shockwave ripples through her skinny flexible body.

“Naughty Little Red,” I growl, getting more into this dark fairy tale RPG crap. “You always snuck cookies when you were a kid, and now you’re sneaking lots of cream.”

I whack her vagina and asshole harder with the cat, making her yelp louder as she swoons awkwardly in that bound X-shape.

“You swing like a girl, wolfy,” she taunts sweetly. I swing it harder, and her giggling explodes into ecstatic masochistic moaning. That sound gets me so hot, so I keep it going by whacking her twat seven times in a row.

“The wolf never had a whip in the storybooks,” Chloe muses in-between moans. “He just had a nice set of fangs.”

“All the better to eat you with, you copper-headed gold-digger.”

I swoop toward her naked body with my “fangs” bared, and she laughs even louder. I bite her big pink nipples, and she shrieks in painful pleasure.

“Eat my titties up, you dirty wolfman!”

I keep nibbling those niblets until I get bored. Then I grab a leather riding crop and turn the rest of her flat chest nice and red.

“Naughty fucking bitch!” I bark as the blows rain down. “I’m gonna break you like a horse, and make you my fucking slave.”

My crop finally comes to rest on her right nipple, breathing heavily in macho fury.

“That’s right, make this lowly actress your chained-up kink doll,” she murmurs. “Another hostile takeover for the Wolf of Wall Street.”

“I’m gonna squeeze your pussy like Jack on a beanstalk.”

I grab a box full of numerous clamps and pick out the most impressive ones. Miniature metal crab claws that I found at a sex shop in Baltimore. I attach one to her left outer labia with a crisp metallic popping sound, making her squeal and shudder all over again.

“God damn, you make it hurt so good, Mister Wolf,” she moans as I put three more on each cunt lip. I put one more on her clit, and she moans cathartically.

“Call me your sugar daddy, you whiny Broadway twat.”

I swing the riding crop square on her snatch, knocking off one of the clamps and sending her to a kinky cloud nine.

“Oh god! Harder, sugar daddy!”

I swing it six more times from numerous angles, and the rest of the crab claws crash down to my fine hardwood floor.

“Your father never spanked you, so I’m gonna make up for lost discipline.”

My favorite spanking paddle is a big cedar octagon with metal rivets and round holes to improve the aerodynamics. Like a BDSM stop sign with a leather-wrapped handle. I step around to her back end, pausing to admire her ballet-sculpted butt.

Thwack!

“Harder, sugar daddy!”

Thwack, thwack, thwack, thwack, thwack, thwack!

“Fucking break me! I’m your cheap little toy, you fucking billionaire!”

Thwack, thwack, thwack, thwack, thwack, thwack, thwack, thwack!

“Oh fuck… oh god, oh god… Hamilton! Hamilton!”

Her stupid safe word makes me pull the paddle away from her throbbing red ass (matching the color of her hair.) I laugh under my breath as she catches her breath.

“Hamilton is an overrated train wreck.”

“Shut up and fuck me. Real hard, like all your other Riding Hoods.”

“Not yet, m’lady. I found you prancing through the woods, and now I’ll take you swinging in a tree.”

I untie her from the metal platform, scoop her hundred-pound body into my burly arms, and carry her across my spacious postmodern penthouse suite. Each piece of furniture in my living room cost more than a Toyota Corolla. I reach the other end of the suite, with an eagle-eye view of Rockefeller Center. The christmas tree behind the skating rink is a distant geomorphous blob of color, floating in a giant capitalist playground. Tommorow morning, I’ll be soaring through the sky over Manhattan, taking a private jet to San Francisco for a big tech convention with Jeff Bezos, Elon Musk, Mark Zuckerberg, and Sundar Pichai. I’m living the high life, but I’ve got nobody to distribute it with (except for random “lovers” like Chloe Carson, who I at all times dump the very next morning, usually with just a text message.)

“God damn, what a view,” she murmurs as I pause near another collection of bondage equipment.

“Way better than Rapunzel’s tower.”

“Rapunzel wishes like hell she had a sex swing. Tie me up with those leather straps and take me for a ride, sugar daddy.”

I plop her down on a high-end steel-and-leather contraption, and she immediately kicks herself into motion, swinging back and forth in the clouds and giggling giddily.

“How do I like to go up in a swing?” she sings mellifluously. “Up in the air so blue? / Oh, I do think it the pleasantest thing / Ever a girl can do!”

“Wipe that stupid grin off your face, bitch.”

I grab her right arm, stopping her swinging motion abruptly. Then I firmly fasten her wrists and ankles to the swing with shiny leather buckle straps, savoring her willing sighs while stringing her up like a hog.

“This ginger stage chick needs your greedy white-collar cock.”

“I’m tired of listening to your big liberal mouth.”

I grab my favorite red ball gag and jam it through her bright red lips, forming an awesome O-shape and reducing her sharp tongue to incomprehensible grunting.

“You love swinging in the clouds, eh Chloe?”

“Uh-huh!” she grunts, with drool oozing between the ball and her stretched lips.

“You’re so fucking hot, I might take you ‘swinging’ in my private jet.”

I pull her bound body way up toward the ceiling, then I let go and watch her swing like crazy.

“Heeeeeeeee!” she exclaims happily. I grab a big leather bullwhip and whack her hogtied body ten times as she swings back and forth.

“Hiiiii-er!”

I pull her up higher, then watch her naked body swing even more. We’re both having a shitload of fun at the top of the Billionaire Building. I’m sensing a true connection here. More than just the usual formulaic role-playing. Could Chloe be the dark soulmate I’ve dreamed about for many cold lonely nights?

“Aright, that’s enough fucking around. The Big Bad Wolf must have his feast.”

“Uh-huh!”

I her by her bony knees and shove my eight-inch prick up her tight dripping snatch, raising my head toward a Waterford crystal chandelier and howling triumphantly. I keep pounding that pussy with unbridled alpha male aggression. I let go of her knees and let her petite body bounce around on the swing with each heavy thrust. Feeling that sense of power racing throughout my body; even better than the physical pleasure. Another night, another conquest, another notch on my riddled bedpost.

“Eee maa ash! Eee maa ash!” she shouts with lots of spittle.

“What was that? You want it in your ass?”

“Uh-huh!”

“Damn, you’re a dirty little golddigger. A woke anal cunt.

I lube up my eight-inch stock broker and slam it up her piehole. Her eyes literally bug out of her head, and she squeals like hell as I ass-fuck her brains out.

“You fucking fairy tale twat!” I growl, with each thrust sending her bound body bouncing around on the kinky swing. “You better tell Cinderella how hard you got screwed by Prince Charming.”

“Fuh yoo!”

“Fuck you, you lazy liberal wench.”

I slap her face five times, sending ropes of drool flying all over the place. Then I wrap my hands around her pale throat and screw her even harder, sweating bullets on a frosty night. It doesn’t take long to reach the breaking point. I pull out of her Hershey Highway and jizz massively, splattering her hogtied body from face to ass.

“AAAAAAHHHHHHHH, FUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCK!”

My orgasm is so incredible, so I’m sure as hell going to have another. I slam my penis up her vagina and keep pounding away, growling like a big bad wolf as she swings like a spider in a hurricane. It only takes thirty seconds to bust my other nut. I pull out and aim toward her big green eyes, turning them white.

“Good little bitch,” I utter triumphantly. “Over the river and through the woods, for a nice big creampie.”

I savor the afterglow for a long silent moment, then I take off her mouthgag and caress her sploogy face.

“You’re a great dominator, Mister Wolf.”

“You’re a sub above, Miss Carson.”

“You better keep my name on speed dial, baby. I need more.”

You better believe it, bitch. This ain’t no hit-and-run.”

The winter wind picks up outside, whistling against the plexiglas picture windows a thousand feet above Central Park, among many muted stars. The real world keeps spinning madly toward oblivion, but everything seems perfect in this dark frozen moment. I’m definitely buying this hot stock.

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