Buying the Virgin

Chapter 6: The Girl Who Sold Herself - Chapter Six

Michael holds out his hand to me. "Lovely to meet you, Charlotte. I can see James here still has the

knack of picking the lookers."

It could have sounded cheesy, but it doesn't. Quite the opposite, he is charming. I take his offered

hand, rising now to meet him. If nothing else, there is no need for me to abandon my good manners.

As I stand, Michael takes me in the lightest of embraces, kissing me on the cheek. So close, I can

smell him: a mix of sandalwood and pine. His hands are slightly roughened, as though he does some

kind of manual work, a craftsman of some kind. His muscular build seems to back that up, and for all

his gentle touch, there is a controlled strength to his touch that hints at physical power.

My panties are abruptly soaked, and I blush, sucking on my lips and, not knowing where to look. I look

away from both men, taking refuge in sitting to slurp down more coffee.

"Are you joining us for breakfast Michael?" asks my Master.

"Just a coffee for now. I'll not overstay my welcome. I just wanted to introduce myself to Charlotte, so

that she can get used to the idea of me."

I look first at Michael, then into my Master's eyes. There is a twinkle there and he gives me just the hint

of a wink, settling my jitters. He is a good man. He proved that last night. With the contract I agreed to,

he could have abused me, but did not. On the contrary, he went out of his way to make my loss of

virginity a lovely and exciting occasion. He would not introduce me to anyone dangerous. And isn’t this

his old friend?

Against all the odds, my anxiety lessens and I begin to enjoy myself. Concentrating on eating my huge

breakfast, I listen to chit-chat between the two men. It is obviously mainly for my benefit, to calm me

down, but nonetheless, they clearly do know each other well, asking about events and acquaintances

that mean nothing to me.

After twenty minutes or so, Michael stands. "Gotta go. I'll see you both later." He flashes white teeth at

me and echoes my Master's wink.

After he leaves, my Master sits silently watching me for a few seconds. "Alright Charlotte?"

"I think so, yes. He seems very nice."

“Yes, he is. That's why I chose him for today. You will, by the way, find if you check your account, find

that it has swelled overnight. You will be earning quite a bit more towards those college costs of yours.”

Now there’s a cheering thought. “Er…can I ask what we will be doing?”

“We’re all going to play together this evening. I think you’re going to have fun. But, as I say, that’s for

this evening. Is there anything you would particularly like to do today?”

It hadn’t occurred to me that I would be asked this. I simply don’t have an answer.

Seeing my confusion, my Master steps in. “A trip out somewhere perhaps? It’s a beautiful day. Do you

like picnics? On the beach, maybe?”

“I love picnics, yes. But perhaps somewhere up in the mountains? It will be hot by the beach.”

“Good idea. Finish your breakfast. I’ll go order us a packed lunch.”

We have a lovely day together, my Master and I. He drives us way up into the hills, to a beauty spot by

the pine forests, looking down over the sea, sparkling blue and silver far below. We are dressed

casually, both wearing jeans and tee shirts, good for sitting on warm grass and enjoying blue skies and

sunshine.

The ‘packed lunch’ turns out to be a hamper that wouldn’t look out of place being unloaded from the

back of a Bentley or a Rolls for Ascot, with smoked salmon, strawberries and cream, and champagne.

For several hours, we chat about this and that, and I learn quite a lot about my new Master, who I am

beginning to think of as a friend.

He is a businessman, working abroad quite a lot and travelling between the States and Europe.

Married previously, but now divorced and, after the failure of his marriage, no longer wishing to be

‘tied’. However, he does enjoy a life of sexual adventure - which is, of course, where I come in.

“Have there been others? Before me I mean? Have you done this before?”

He scratches his nose. “I suppose that’s a natural question. No, I haven’t done this before: literally

buying a woman.” He leans forward, taking my hand. “You are unique in that way Charlotte, and in

other ways too I think.”

“I’m not sure what you mean?” Content © provided by NôvelDrama.Org.

“Very few women, especially a young woman like you, would have had the sheer nerve to do what you

have done. I admire you for it…and now, he stretches and yawns. “We have an appointment with

Michael. Shall we go?”

An hour or so later, back at the hotel, Michael is waiting for us in the lobby. Standing as he sees us

arrive, he smiles. “Hello, James. Good evening Charlotte. You had a good day I hope.” He looks good,

wearing a clean white linen shirt with well-cut jeans and polished shoes.

“Yes, lovely,” I squeak, trying to get my voice under control. In only a little while, I am expected to be

having sex together with these two men.

Up in the apartment, my Master waves me through to the bathroom. “You will find some clothes in there

that I would like you to wear.”

The ‘clothes’ turn out to be minimalist, to say the least: stockings, a heavy collar-type necklace, and the

lightest of sheer robes, quite transparent and revealing my lack of underwear of any kind. I put on some

makeup, then try to put my hair up. It is uncooperative, tangling into knots every time I try to pin it high,

so, giving it up as a bad job, I brush it out and let it settle down into a red cloud around me, standing

out and crackling with static.

Drawing the diaphanous wrap around me like armour, heart pounding, I step back into the lounge,

dimly lit, where the two men are waiting for me, standing, talking quietly together, drinking wine.

As I step through the door, they turn as one, both smiling, and my Master offering me a glass. “Relax a

little Charlotte. You look beautiful. Come join us. Let us look at you.”

Sipping the wine, I catch sight of myself in a mirror. A stranger looks back at me, dark-eyed, red-lipped,

with a deep bronze collar at the throat, flickering bright in the candle gleam, and wearing only

gossamer silk and a cloud of copper-red hair.

The stranger is indeed lovely.

My Master stands behind me in the reflection, Michael to his side. “Look at yourself Charlotte. Don’t

you think you are beautiful? Imagine how I feel, having you here. How Michael feels.”

He and Michael each take me by an arm. I think they are leading me to the same bedroom as before,

but no, this is another room, smaller, much smaller. Once again, the lights are low, candlelight only.

There is little in here except the bed, centred between mirrored walls. Mirrors surround us from all

sides. I see myself, Michael and my Master, reflected a hundred times around us in the light of a

thousand ghostly candles.

The two men position me between them, standing me on a large thick rug in the centre of the

beautifully polished hardwood floor.

My Master pulls me gently to him, Michael standing behind me, his hands resting on my hips. He

kisses me softly on the lips, then turns me to face Michael, who also kisses me, more fully, open-

mouthed. In the mirrors, I see him look to my Master over my shoulder. Do they have some sort of

code? Some unwritten script?

“Watch yourself,” murmurs my Master. “And us. Watch yourself in the mirrors. See what we are doing

to you. Watch what you do to us.”

My Master is holding me at the waist while Michael unties the wrap. As it falls loose from my shoulders,

hands slide it away from me, down to the floor. Standing naked between the two men, both sets of

hands explore me.

My Master reaches around in front of me, cupping my breasts from behind, pushing them in and up,

displaying them to Michael, who bends and suckles, first one, then the other. His hands are stroking my

belly, my hips, questing south to my thighs. In the mirrors, his head moves against me, dark hair ruffled

slightly by the movement.

Behind me, through the fabric of clothes, the rising hardness of an erection presses to my back before,

abruptly, disappearing as my Master moves away from me.

I try to turn, to see where he has gone, but Michael holds me still and there is the sound of a chair

scraping over the wooden floor.

Michael dropping to his knees, my Master seats himself to one side of us, sitting, head propped on one

hand, his pupils wide and dark in the glimmer-light as he watches us.

“Charlotte,” he says. “Turn a little. I want to see you.”