Flying the Dominant Billionaire

Leonardo (Leo) Leo found himself tied to the antique 4- poster bed squat in the middle of his bedroom, almost n*ked, sporting a massive h*rdon. The colonial styled beachside country home in East Hampton had four bedrooms on the top floor, all overlooking the sea. The bedrooms opened into a large wooden sundeck with stairs at both ends going down to the beach. Fleeting in and out of random thoughts he tried to make sense of the somewhat disconnected and strangely muddled recollections. Most of them were about that hottie. Cory, No, wait! That wasn't her name. Was it Blaire? No, it was Claire! Yes! Claire, where is she though? In his mind's eye, he remembered his morning's encounter with Claire. He had just entered his house after a tiring meeting with the board, happy that it had been successful. A young woman was in their living room, fluffing up the cushions in the corner lounge, bending over his mum's favorite Victorian sofas which were placed in the the same cosy corner. The large french windows next to the antique sofa overlooked the shore showing a blue expansive sea under a clear sky. Her hand stroked the exquisite Indian silk upholstery as she continued her work unaware of his presence. The Burma teak of the sofa, gleamed in the afternoon light, its opulence calling for attention. No wonder his mother always found a way to mention it in her conversations. He looked at the woman's back and caught a glimpse of her shapely legs in her black heeled stilettos with deep red soles. The tilted sunlight floating in through the windows landed on her well defined calves. Her skin shined like white gold. Before he could move his eyes off her, to prevent himself from an awkward moment of being caught staring at the stranger, she bent down to arrange the cushions. OMFG! Are those some lacy red garters? Who is this ? A bloody hot french maid from the cleaning agency? He smirked at the thought. Where was Ma Yaya? Why was she hiring these blonde bimbos nowadays? Leonardo looked for Ma Yaya in the kitchen at the opposite side. She must be working upstairs, he thought. He checked all four bedrooms upstairs. Where was she? He came back downstairs and asked the blonde girl. She was now in the foyer at the bottom of the stairs, dusting the curios on the mantelpiece. She looked up at him, Is she really blushing? mild pink shade creeped up her pale blemish free skin. “Pardon Monsieur! Elle est sortie," saying... sorry sir, she has left... in impeccable French, she added hurriedly in English. "She go out.” F*cking hell! He couldn't believe his ears. A real French maid! Mmm... Exotic! He spent the entire afternoon getting to know her. It was quite a coincidence when she chose to have a glass of the 2015 Château Pontet-Canet Bordeaux. It was from the same region in France where she had grown up. His mum had invested in 15 cases of the classic and had them shipped directly from the vineyard to their home. Their underground wine cellar had them stored for different periods before they would go to the wine stock exchanges of New York to be sold for a premium. Claire spoke little English and a lot of French! Leonardo did not mind. His French was rusty, but he could manage a decent conversation. She showed her excitement to have found someone who spoke her language. She dramatically explained how the people at the cleaning agency mostly spoke English or would rattle off in Spanish or some strange languages. Could be from Asia, but she couldn't tell. Her casual and friendly demeanour was like a breath of fresh air after his high profile meeting. Leonardo enjoyed bumping into this sexy stranger and engaging in small talk. There was no one else at home anyways. After a few glasses, Claire loosened her dark blonde hair that fell in a cascade around her shoulders. She unbuttoned the first few buttons of her maroon satin shirt giving Leo a generous view of the mound of her br*asts. In a typical French way she kept peppering her conversation with, Mon Dieu, meaning my God! She wasn’t wearing a bra and yet her br*asts were deliciously firm. Leonardo was amazed with how his body reacted to her. It was long since he had casual conversations with real, ordinary, run-of-the-mill people. As the CEO of Papa Lombardi’s Pizzas he was always busy and kept no friends. By the time they had opened the second bottle of Bordeaux, Claire was quite giggly. Her full lips had turned a shade darker and he could now notice the beautiful grey colour of her eyes. She had the same eye colour as his mum. He was a little surprised with Claire's abrupt touches against his knees and sometimes his hands. Must be the wine, he thought as he enjoyed the softness of her skin against his own. She leaned closer to him as she got off the bar stool, at the bar across the living room. Her n*****s strained against the satin blouse, making him hard. Claire reached out to steady herself with her hand and accidentally brushed against his bulge... Lying tied on the bed now, he remembered how she had gone a little red on her fair cheeks and had immediately blurted out her apology “Desole”. But the smirk on her luscious lips and the twinkle in her ashen eyes clearly showed that she wasn't sorry at all. Leonardo politely responded in French, saying it wasn’t serious. He steadied her by wrapping his arm around her slender waist and she immediately lunged forward. Wrapped her legs around one of Leonardo's, she straddled him and whispered suggestions of how she could make it serious. He remembered how she did a slow grind, gently swaying her hips and rubbing herself on his thigh. The s****l tension kept rising between them as her sultry voice teased his ears in her French, the language of sensuality. He had not signed up for this. She was a sweet girl and they were having a good time talking about their lives. He did not want to take this any further. He tried to push her away, but his mind was playing tricks with him. A dominant voice inside his head kept screaming,like a mantra “F*ck her! F*ck her... F*ck her!' His hand moved down from her slender waist and squeezed her exquisite ass. She responded by moaning and arching her back as she pushed one of her exposed n*****s near Leo's mouth. Is it the wine or is she wearing a perfume with notes of lavender? That was his favorite fragrance! Things got heady and out-of-hand very quickly. He did not want to use and violate this young, sexy woman. He felt it was wrong on many counts. They had just met, she was at work in his home, she was an absolute stranger and Leonardo would not even want to stay in touch with her after they were done. This wasn't his style. But he was intensely attracted to her. He was drawn to her simplicity, to her brazen attraction for him, and to the way her body reacted to him. He knew he was exceptionally attractive. He had inherited his chiseled Greek features from his beautiful mother, giving him his Dinaric type Italian features. His long, straight, almost oval face had prominent cheekbones and an aquiline nose. He had straight shabby eyebrows sitting on top of a pair of shapely jade green eyes. He loved himself enough to be a little narcissistic at times. So Claire's reaction to him boosted his pride and fostered his arrogance. She ran her fingers through Leonardo's shock of unruly and wavy hair and pulled his face closer to her br*asts. Leonardo gave in to the warmth of her n*pple brushing against his lips, its hardness making his er*ction swell and that heady fragrance of lavender arousing him. He s*cked hard and bit the bit flesh. She yelped in pain and moved away from him instinctively. Leonardo immediately felt sorry. This is wrong. She doesn't know what she is getting into. I can’t be doing this to her, the sane voice in his brain tried to admonish him. He got off the bar stool, and felt a wet slick on his trouser leg, at the spot where Claire had been straddling him. He touched it and groaned as his mind raced, all rational thoughts forgotten except the wetness of the young nubile girl in front of him who was eager to f*ck him. Leonardo stood tall, his six feet two inch with an athletic frame, towering over Claire’s short body. He had a good five to six inches on her even when she was in her stilettos. She reached up and pulled his face down to hers by roughly yanking his retro thin black tie. Her warm breath tickled his ear as she whispered in a rough, accented, wine filled voice, this time in English, “No panties, darling.” Leonardo growled and carried her up the stairs to his bedroom. She wasn’t light, but he was strong. A regular workout routine came in handy. When he dropped her on the king sized mahogany antique bed, Claire sunk into the mattress with her legs up in the air. Her black skirt rode up, exposing her mound. He loved the dark blonde tuft going up to her clean shaved, smooth sl*t. This was going to be fun! She took off Leonardo's pants, as soon as he kicked off his shoes. As he lost his tie and his shirt, she took off her lacy red garter and red lined stockings. Leo’s brain shouted, 'Don’t do this to her. Not her. She’s innocent!' immediately replaced by 'Just enter her! Right now!' He had roughly scrambled on top of her, his crotch straining against his underwear. Claire eyed the huge bulge and giggled. “Mmmm” She sprang out like a cat from under him. She straddled him and pulled his arms up, coming down to his face, she almost kissed him. She toyed with him and licked his three day stubble from his neck to his ear. Leo's mind exploded with passion. He had not felt like this in years. Not since college! He relished the way his er*ction filled his pants. Claire yanked one of her stockings and started to tie Leo's hands expertly to the bed frame, clearly knowing what she was doing. Her satin shirt opened completely exposing her beautiful firm breasts. Leo's heart pounded in his head. Usually he was used to an opposite set up, but with her, he looked forward to experimenting. But where is she? He pondered, looking at the arched doorway. She had left him saying she was going to be back in a tick. Funny how a French woman had suddenly used a common English expression, he thought amused. He tugged at the bondage. The stockings did not budge. Claire sure was adept with her knots. She had used a constrictor knot, which tightened the more you pulled at it, so he stopped struggling. What did the evening have in store for them? Leonardo wondered, even as his brain tried to recollect something or someone who he would rather be with. But the thoughts were inaccessible. Is it going to be rough s*x? Was Claire even capable of that? Do I really want this? The dilemma continued, although he couldn't do much, given his condition. And there was no sign of her. Leonardo was starting to feel uneasy. His mind jumped from s****l apprehension to absolute dread. Why are my thoughts so volatile? Why am I not able to pin them down? What’s happening? He struggled against the bondage again. Then he suddenly heard Ma Yaya's strained voice from somewhere downstairs, “Help! Dear God, help me!“ she yelled desperately. The distinct smell of gas wafted into the room and started to fill the air around him. ***** Kelly Somewhere in Bronx... Kelly hung her head under the shower, her bath area steaming up from the hot water. She sighed and relaxed when the searing hot water ran down her back, over her heavy buttocks, down her thighs, running in snaking rivulets over her calves. It felt like someone was kneading those tired leg muscles with gentle fingers and a light warm touch. Her muscles screamed in delight and she felt them loosen up. At work, she had to use her feet most of the time, constantly working against the torques. After an hour, her feet felt like they were lined with lead. She kept herself hydrated at all times to ensure her muscles did not cramp. But she did not complain. She was in her dream job. The work timings sucked, but this is what she had always wanted. New York winters could be really harsh, especially after snow. The skies would be clear and crystalline blue with little white tufts of clouds as the mercury would dip below zero. It was one of those days. The sun outside gave a false sense of heat where there was none. Returning from work, she entered her apartment, turned the heating on and put the kettle on the boil. It was her winter routine. She could never get out of her suit anywhere else other than her tiny bathroom. While her living room would take at least thirty minutes to warm up, the steaming hot water from the insulated plumbing would immediately raise the temperature inside the bathroom. She loved getting out of her fire retardant suit and her synthetic innerwear the moment she entered the bathroom. She was a D-cup and had to wear a racer back bra to keep her br*asts free from the torques. Inevitably, her shoulders and neck would hurt from the tight straps that held her heavy boobs in place, working against gravity and cutting into her skin. Kelly would invariably moan in relief every time she unclasped her bra and pulled it over her head. Her soft cotton thongs were lost in a jiffy. She could not wear anything else under her suit. Long hours of sitting, sliding and moving her ass to compensate for the forces at play did not allow her to be comfortable in anything else. When she finished showering, she dried herself with a towel and wrapped her long, light blonde hair in a bun with the towel on her head. She wore her bath slippers and slipped into her white bathrobe as she stepped out of the bathroom and the warm glow of the heating inside her apartment enveloped her. She heard the kettle sing in the pantry. Her iPhone buzzed on the island between the pantry and her living room. She called out to Siri, the new virtual assistant program, to read out the daily news as she crossed the island, grabbed the kettle and poured the steaming water into the waiting French press. The aroma of the Columbian ground coffee filled the air. She almost had an org*sm from the anticipation of how the full bodied strong taste would feel in her mouth. The Five on Fox was talking about a gas explosion in East Hampton that had claimed two lives, injured three people and destroyed two homes. It had completely disintegrated one wing of a beachside estate house and had blown a hole in the modern home next door. The explosion had originated in the estate house, but the tremor had punched a hole in a room in the adjoining glass and aluminium building across the lawns. Unfortunately, the room was a nursery for the Compton family’s young child, George. The two year old toddler had not survived the shock from the blast and both his parents were grievously injured. Kelly kept her coffee mug down on the island and looked for the TV remote. East Hampton house, beachside, estate house. Please no...! she prayed silently. When she turned it on, horror gripped her and shocked, she sat down on her couch. Steve Lacy was speaking about billionaire Leonardo Lombardi Junior being one of the grievously injured. The blast originating inside his million dollar beach front home had claimed the life of his Filipino housekeeper, Yaya Garces. Leonardo was found unconscious under the rubble, in nothing but his underwear, tied to the post of his bed. Steve was blabbering about the idiosyncrasies of the rich and famous and their quirks, but Kelly could not hear him any more. Fox was showing ambulances and fire tenders parked in the area, firemen moving inside the rubble, the medics moving around hastily and the cops putting up the yellow police lines around the houses. She grabbed her iPhone and hastily dialled her friend Belinda at the Sheriff’s office. “Have you seen the news? It’s Leo…. the... there’s been an ex...explosion…I h...h..have to know where they have taken him…Could you find out?” Kelly stammered., finding it hard to speak as her chest felt heavy and her mind started feeling fuzzy. She grabbed her UD flight suit, went into her bedroom on autopilot, put on her underwear and slipped into the Freedom Green bag, zipping it up from the front. She shoved her large size eight feet into the Propper boots and tucked the gloves into the bag’s pockets. The white EVO helmet was still sitting on the couch in the living room where she had left it only an hour back. Her Mini Countryman keys were next to it. When Kelly left her apartment that evening, the Colombian brew was left unfinished, still warm and she had forgotten to turn off the heating. She was only thinking about Leo. Please God, keep him alive! As she was waiting for the elevator to come up to the 16th floor of the Alvista Towers in Jamaica, Queens, Belinda’s name showed up on her phone screen. "They have taken him to the Long Beach Memorial Hospital. I really hope he is out of danger!" Belinda’s voice was laced with concern. Kelly knew that the hospital had a heliport. It serviced the residents of Long Island and was the closest upscale medical facility for East Hampton and its rich residents. She would get to her A Star parked at the Belmont Park Heliport in under twenty mins, driving on Murdoch Avenue. Then fly into the Long Beach heliport in under ten mins. The clock was ticking in her head. I am going to be with him in 30 mins. Please God, keep him alive. Kelly slammed the Countryman Mini’s door and hit the gas, speeding out of the underground parking lot and turning into the main street with her tires screeching. She left a trail of white exhaust in the surrounding icy cold air and fuming rubber marks on the asphalt as she careened the car into 148th Street, the speedometer touching 80mph. *****