Raina Boardman had it all - money, success, power, and all the trappings therein. She was the head of a company she’d created from the ashes of trying childhood, and she should have had everything she ever wanted.
But everyone has some desires can never be spoken aloud, and she had never confronted her own head on: she wanted to submit to a man, someone who would take her in hand and make her want to surrender herself to him. It was almost as if she had too much control - was too demanding - in her daily life. She needed someone strong enough to meet her toe to toe and back her down unhesitatingly - in business and in their bedroom . . .
He arrived in her boardroom one day - a filthy rich, disgustingly handsome billionaire playboy who could buy and sell her in a heartbeat - and conquered and controlled it perfectly. She knew she was lost. She only hoped he couldn’t see quite how much she wished he would focus all that power and dominance on her.
In the end, she betrayed herself to him, and entered a life she’d only dreamt of, fantasized about feverishly, alone in the night. He was every bit as strict a disciplinarian as she could have wanted - more so, she thought sometimes - and never hesitated to lay down the law across her cringing bottom and thighs in the most severe of manners. But those weren’t the only tools in the arsenal he used to keep her in line. He’d said he was going to push her limits, and he was nothing if not a man of his word. And she was His, to do with as he pleased.
Raina grasped at the ropes that held her, trying to obey, trying to submit,
even though she didn’t feel as if she even had any control over whether
she did or not.
But her Master would disagree with that idea, she knew from experience this
past year. It was her body, and she was solely responsible for it’s
submission to him, every single inch of her, up to and including the very
area he was exploring now – one of his most favorite.
She could see the clear plastic container where it was placed near her head,
which was held in just such a position that she couldn’t look away from
it. She was always forced to watch as he emptied the nasty contents of that
awful thing inside her, forcing her to accept the somewhat cooled water through
force of her own will as it rightfully bent to his. He didn’t use a
butt plug nozzle. Not her Master. He went for a much subtler approach. He
didn’t want to take the option of disobeying him away from her. He left
it entirely up to her after he’d required her to fill that awful container
with the usual solution which was very light on irritating soap, but cool
enough to still cause spasms that would remind her of just exactly who it
was that owned her through out.
Raina had also been mindful of his rules and had added the light green food
coloring he required that would make the descent of the water level as it
emptied into her bottom just that much more dramatic.
While she was forced to stare at the way her “tonic” as he called
it made its journey into her insides, she could also see, through artfully
rigged mirrors, the entire route it took as it descended down the clear plastic
tubing, only held up again by her unnaturally curved buttocks as she was held
in what he called the “receptive” position. Normally, when he
wasn’t trying to show her her own submission in action, her head was
down, her face laid into one of those round, cushioned massage rings that
he’d liberated from somewhere and jury rigged for her. He loved it,
because it was inherently comfortable for her, and it eliminated the need
for any sort of a blindfold, because she couldn’t see while her face
was pressed against it.
He patted her naked hip, very much as if he was patting the haunch of one
of his many Thoroughbreds. He enjoyed how she looked, most especially in this
position. He had lifted her onto her punishment table – the heavy gage
one he’d had built to his own specifications that were quite baroque
and overblown. He adored seeing a tiny woman – Raina was only about
five feet tall and about ninety eight pounds soaking wet – on a huge
table, or being fucked by a big guy, such as himself. It had nothing whatever
to do with her being in the least childlike – not with those natural
D cup breasts of hers – and everything to do with being the biggest
person in the room.
He liked being able to pick her up and carry her around to wherever he wanted
her. And this evening after he’d awakened her from a nap he’d
put her down for not too much earlier, he’d wanted to clean her out
for some reason. And around here, his whim was law.
So he’d put her on the huge black table and secured her ankles to a
spreader bar so that they were well separated and he would have instantaneous
access to any part of her that he might become interested in, then each of
them was secured to the imbedded restraints at the corners, as well as the
one from the floor directly beneath them, so she couldn’t move them
from side to side or up and down. He liked her to be able to move as little
as possible when he was working on her, and the spreader bar also made it
that much harder for her to retain the enema.
Sometimes he was a real bastard.
Then he’d secured the imbedded thick leather belt around her tiny waist,
again enjoying the brutish contrast, and moving up to her arms, which he bent
at the elbow to give her some support, so that she wasn’t leaning all
her weigh on her head and neck, but also secured much like her ankles, bound
tightly together using the four inch leather wrist cuffs he had collared her
with and required her to wear at all times when she wasn’t working,
attaching them together then individually then to the hook in the floor, so
that she was well and truly bound and held fast for her cleansing.
And whatever depraved thing he thought to do to her before, during and after.
He had things set up perfectly. He liked for her to have to watch herself
getting punished or cleansed or inspected or whatever. He believed that it
helped her experience her own submission on a different level from the norm,
and he knew she hated every minute of it, which is why she was always on orders
never to close her eyes when he had her positioned like this so that she was
always forced to watch the intimate details of her own violation, as well
as feeling them.
She could also feel the coolness of the liquid on that small patch of her
bottom it was draped over, before entering her through the douche nozzle he
favored, and she could see peeking out from between her forcefully rounded
Raina hated this position. She was so horribly exposed, her slick and bare
as a whistle femininity hanging down between her legs for anyone to see –
not that he would ever let anyone near her; he was much too possessive for
that. But she had absolutely no defense against anything he might want to
do to her.
And that was exactly the way he liked it.
He knew she wanted to rock back and forth to try to cope with the forceful
invasion of the solution he favored as it wound its way through her colon,
but he denied her even that comfort. She was his, and she wasn’t allowed
to comfort herself. He was the only one who could do that, and he had deigned
that she didn’t need it for a simple enema.
There were rare occasions when he required that she be completely silent while
being punished and it didn’t matter what kind of punishment it was.
It was usually just a notion that took him at the time, and whether it was
a cane in his hand or his well lubed hand.
But her enemas, which were strictly administered every three days, using the
exact same ritual each time, were not one of those times, so Raina was moaning
and sobbing softly as the cramps threatened to over take her.
The fact that he was so consistent was usually very good for her. But the
enemas he forced her to take, even after more than a year with him, had never
gotten any easier.
And he liked that. He didn’t believe that submission should be easy,
so he kept raising the bar.
When she’d first come to him, he’d given her very small enemas,
since she’d never had one before that she could recall, and they were
simple warm water – nothing added. But when he felt it was getting to
be a non event for her, when she wasn’t truly struggling to obey him
and hold it to the very last, then he upped the ante, adding small amounts
of lemon juice, or mild soap or adjusting the temperature down a degree or
two. He was in no hurry. She was going to be his forever, and he was in no
hurry to force her to take and hold a soapy, crushed ice enema.
But he would, eventually.
He loved bring her along in increments, always making her work for her submission,
always taking her just the a bit – or sometimes more – past what
she would consider the edge of her tolerance, whether it was this or a punishment
or an exercise in humiliation.
He kept meticulous records of everything he did to her, too, even these more
routine rituals, noting how much he gave her, what its ingredients were, and
how well she took it – as well as notes of what he did if she was unable –
or unwilling – to submit to his will.
Raina could see that she was nearing the end of the first part of the enema
– the container was nearly empty. But that just meant that the worst
part still loomed.
“Looks like you’re ready,” Master said from behind her,
where she finally heard that welcome click that meant he’d shut off
Unfortunately, it also meant that he would remove the nozzle and expect her
to hold her water all on her own – no plug, no nothing – until
he deemed she could go and release it.
“Clench, clench, clench,” he ordered softly as he removed the
nozzle, then began to release her bonds, leaving her that much freer and that
much more restrained. Once her legs were free, he brought her ankles together,
strategically slipping a pair of pink bikini briefs over her ankles.
She stayed exactly in position, as he required, as he wandered around her,
whispering occasionally, “hold it, hold it, hold it.”
He could see how hard it was for her to do this, which only made her submission
to him that much more precious. It wouldn’t have been any fun for him
at all if it had been easy, if she hadn’t been writhing and wiggling
and desperately trying to avoid the horrid punishment she knew would be hers
if she spilled just one drop. It was very close to the dance she did on those
rare occasions when he fulfilled her pleasure.
She was moaning softly, rhythmically behind the pacifier he’d tucked
into her mouth, and it was music to his ears. Low, plaintive music that never
let him forget the position he’d put her in. Even if she hadn’t
been gagged by that small mouth plug, she’d been trained not to beg.
To him, a constantly whining, pleading slave needed more training, needed
to learn that no amount of annoying utterances would sway him.
She’d learned that.
The hard way.
But she’d learned.
Raina knew that non-verbal noises – as long as they weren’t too
loud or strident – were permitted, even expected in a lot of the situations
she found herself in with him. But unless it was an emergency situation –
like a cramp or an asthma attack – she was not allowed to say anything
he hadn’t given her permission to.
Her master, being the ultimate control freak, sometimes even orchestrated
her every word.
He watched avidly as her dance became more and more frantic, as the punishing
liquid made her insides angrier and angrier.
He made her hold it until he thought she was going to explode, then –
not fancying have to clean up any such mess – he tapped her right flank
and said but one word. “Release.” Like the Southern gentleman
that he was, even in times like this, he helped her down off the high table,
patting her bottom possessively as she tried to scurry away.
But even then, having been given permission to ease the ache in her tummy,
she wasn’t free. The panties around her ankles hobbled her, and she
had to stumble her way to blessed relief.
Ever mindful of any sort of germs – even though they were they only
ones to ever use this equipment – he wiped everything down with antiseptics,
then put the smaller accoutrement into a dishwasher he’d had installed
in the room he euphemistically referred to as the Library, especially for
that purpose. It wasn’t the only place in the huge house that there
were reminders of the backbone of their relationship. The Library just happened
to be the place with the highest concentration of paraphernalia.
Then he shut off the light and wandered into their huge bedroom – knowing
she knew to not to so much as stand up from the commode until she’d
received permission – drawing the wall of curtains open to reveal the screen
doors behind them, the gateway to their huge private balcony as it faced a
huge expanse of the Pacific Ocean. He knew how the sea appealed to every one
of her senses, how it soothed her wordlessly, and tonight she would need comfort
he would not give to her until much, much later.
He puttered around the room, unlocking cabinets and extracting the tools of
the trade: a plastic speculum – the metal ones could pinch sensitive
flesh without permission – a soft leather flogger that was anything
but in his hands, a wooden spoon with a hole in the middle that left the most
intriguing pattern of welts. Inspired by that thought, he put his digital
camera within easy reach on the bedside table.
He’d taken videos of her, especially when they were first together and
everything was so brand new, including all of her responses to his efforts.
But as their relationship progressed he’d found himself less and less
captivated by that medium and more and more riveted by the reality of it all.
Even when he was being more avid about video documentation of their exploits,
they never ended up being particularly prurient. He preferred almost artful
shots of her reactions much more than the money shots.
And it had puzzled him to no end.
It wasn’t like he was a chaste beginner himself. More like a jaded old
He had always had money – thanks to his grandfather – had always been
privileged, and had always pretty much done as he’d damned well pleased.
Especially when it came to women. It seemed that no one could – or would
– turn him down, no matter what outrageous demand he made of them.
But he knew what motivated each and every one of the women he took into the
Library, and then, usually, eventually, into a bed – although not his.
Before Raina, he’d never allowed any of his little playmates into his
inner sanctum. He’d used one of the other master suites, keeping it
looking relatively lived in so that none of them guessed that they weren’t
in the bedroom he slept in.
They wanted his money. He’d never, ever, unless there was another Depression,
have to read a price tag. Neither would his wife, not that there was ever
going to be another one. He’d married early and for love, fool that
he was. He’d never again let himself be lead around by his dick.
Instead, he did the leading, and he kept his emotions – such as they
were now – very carefully under wraps. Frankly, despite the fact that
he had a raging libido, he very rarely indulged himself. It was too dangerous
to do so with his . . . predilections. He didn’t want to see himself
in the headlines of the Enquirer – “Billionaire Playboy Prefers Whips
A shudder ran through him at the mere thought. He may have had all the privileges
of wealth, but he wasn’t one of those trust fund babies who partied,
fucked, and slept and contributed little else to the world around him. He
hadn’t rested on his grandfather’s monied laurels – he’d
created his own highly successful companies and was a force – a jaded,
cynical force, but a force nonetheless – to be reckoned within the business
world. He had a reputation as a ruthless man who tended towards hostile takeovers
of companies that no one knew were teetering on the brink of insolvency.
But Raina had caught his eye from the very beginning.
Raina Boardman was a self made woman – his exact opposite. She wasn’t
born with anything in her mouth, much less a silver spoon, but she’d
managed to pull herself up by her bootstraps. She was the CEO of a corporation
called Infinity that was solidly established as a leader in the cosmetics
industry. She was a Type A of the highest order, first one in and last one
out, every single day.
They’d been invited to the same charity benefit, and he had seen her
walk in – head high, looking drop dead gorgeous and completely comfortable
without an escort, male, female or otherwise. She didn’t need anyone
or anything, and her carriage and attitude fairly screamed it.
He finagled an introduction, not wanting to confront her head on. He didn’t
know what it was, but something in him told him to be a more subtle in his
approach to her than he might be.
And he was right.
When their small talk petered out, and a group of people who seemed to know
her well arrived, he managed to insinuate himself into their fringes as they
laughed and talked with easy camaraderie. She had a reputation for being a
tough, hard nosed bitch, but, like with most publicity, the positive side
of her was never portrayed.
He hated it, but he liked hearing her laugh. It was a soft, tinkling sound,
and it made his heart contract,
but only once, before he brought it strictly back into line. He wasn’t
going to go there again with any woman, even her.
He found himself drawn to her almost against his will, but he remained on
the fringes of the group, not joining in, just listening and watching. She
was just what he wanted in a woman – although she was wearing too much
make up for his tastes; she was smart, funny, and could hold her own with
anyone without seeming shrewish or bitchy, just calm and strong and sure of
herself. He’d never put a lot of stock in looks, but she was gorgeous,
even by his standards, and he’d been fully hard since the moment his
eyes had found her across the room.
Patience, man, he’d chided himself. He didn’t speak to her again
until he called and set up an appointment to see her. He was always more comfortable
talking to people on a business level at first.
When she’d ushered him into her office, which was tastefully, classically
appointed and shown him to a comfortable wing backed chair in front of her
big oak desk, he hadn’t been able to take his eyes off her. So much
so that he had barley listened to what she was saying to him.
He’d never reacted to any woman – even Amy – like that in
his life, and he didn’t like it one bit.
But that did nothing to dull the throbbing ache she inspired in his loins.
He consciously dispensed with chit chat, which he abhorred anyway, and got
right down to the brass tacks of letting her know that he admired what she’d
done, and that he’d like to help her as much as he could.
She’d been excruciatingly polite, no doubt not wanting to offend him,
but had quietly refused every offer he’d made until he hit on a way
for her to branch out that she hadn’t thought of.
Then he had her, and they began to work very closely – and extremely
well – together on it. He didn’t usually like to partner with
anyone, but things seemed very natural between them from the very beginning,
and their long nights together paid off for the both of them, in very varied
It was late one night when he’d realized just exactly how perfect they
were for each other. They’d been working all day; he’d already
wrenched of his tie and unbuttoned his collar. He was inches away from stripping
off his shirt altogether. She’d kicked off her ridiculously high pastel
pink heels and literally let her hair down, complaining that the bun she’d
scraped it into was giving her a head ache. She hadn’t done it as a
come on at all, just practically removed the pins that were holding it and
let it fall.
She looked incredible, regardless, as far as he was concerned.
They got into a small disagreement about how to fund something. He was insisting
on doing it himself, since it was a tricky proposal and he didn’t want
her to have to feel any of the financial crunch if it didn’t work.
But she was at least as stubborn as he was about some things, and kept giving
him a hard time about it, trying to reassure him that she wanted to stand
on her own two feet and that she didn’t accept help from anyone, including
Finally, he drew himself up to his full six-two and came around the table
to stare down at her, glaring fit to subdue even a man much bigger than himself,
not that she seemed to notice it much when he was intimidating, unlike most
of the rest of the people around him. One sharp look and he could practically
clear a crowded room. But then, she wasn’t a sycophant or a hanger on
or a yes person. She was a highly successful woman in her own right, and she
was just trying to assert the fact that she didn’t need him, or anyone
else, and she wasn’t going to just knuckle under because of who or what
For some reason, though, she did this time as he stood over her, his hands
on his hips. “Now. I’m going to provide the backing for this,
and you’re going to be quiet and obedient and let me do it. Case closed.”
It amazed him when she just sat there and uttered a meek, “Yes, Sir.”
He sucked in his breath quickly at the sound of it, standing there very deliberately
until she looked up at him, and he knew as soon as their eyes met.
She would submit to him.
In every way.
And she’d enjoy every second of it.
He’d make damn sure of that.