Buying The Virgin Part 1-3

Chapter 43: The Girl Who Sold Herself - Chapter Forty-Three

My Master finally breaks through the crowd. “Charlotte! Are you alright? Are you hurt?”

“Um, yes Master. I’m fine. No, I’m not hurt… I …er…”

I run out of words and turn in appeal to Michael.

“Steve and Marcie didn’t want to take ‘No’ for an answer. Charlotte explained the rules of consent to them.” Michael’s tone is bland, but his eyes are bubbling with laughter.

Now it is clear that I am unharmed, my Master is also clearly struggling not to laugh. Each holding an arm courteously for me, he, with Michael, accompanies me to their chosen room.

“Where did you learn to punch like that?” he hisses out of the side of his mouth. “I saw him go down. You have a fantastic right-cross.”

“Girl’s regional boxing champion in my year at high school,” I explain. I am worried. “Have I gotten us into trouble, Master?”

He chuckles. “I really, really, don’t think so. What’s he going to say? That a female sub, six inches shorter than him, laid him out on the floor with a single blow?”

“A girl’s got to be able to look after herself, Master.”

He shakes his head. “You still manage to surprise me Charlotte. If I’d known you could do that, I might have trodden more carefully, the night I took your virginity.”

Michael is beaming.

“What’s Michael looking so pleased about?” I mutter.

“You seriously don’t know?”

“No, Master, I don’t. I thought you were both going to be mad at me.”

“You were jealous, Charlotte.” I saw your face, and so did he. Marcie wouldn’t leave him alone, and you were jealous over Michael. You just proved to him that you feel strongly enough about it, to fight for him.”

“Looks like we’re all learning things about ourselves these last couple of days doesn’t it Master?”

*****

The two of them lead me to the same room we used on the previous occasion we were here. Laid out as a Medieval dungeon, the walls are racked with flails and whips. There is a padded bench with restraints at either end, a very large bed, and a sort of diagonal cross, again with cuffs for wrists and ankle.

A man is waiting there, handsome in a severe sort of way. He is tall and fair-haired, with cold, blue eyes. He stands, leaning back against the padded bench.

“Ah, James, Michael, there you are. And this must be Charlotte.”

My Master turns to me. “Charlotte, this is Kris. He is going to be entertaining you for a while now.”

I falter. “Master?”

gaze,

drop my head. “Yes,

gives my hand a squeeze, then, his hand on my back, propels me gently forward

almost stalking. “I was not here last time you visited us

out a riding crop. Nearly three

to wonder what

pussy

get off on

of the crop, tracing the outline of my

Charlotte. A gift from your Masters,

gift from

crop. “You will address me as ‘Sir’, and

If he invites me?

glance at my Master, at Michael. My Master is expressionless. Michael lowers his eyelids in the smallest of reassuring gestures. But both are watching me

Yes. And I asked

the back of my neck, at the fastenings on the halter of my dress. Kris addresses my

“Take it off her.”

steps up close behind me, undoing the two tiny buttons which are all that hold the dress in place. He says quietly, “If you don’t want to really feel it from him, be sure to do as you are told. Kris is not so… restrained, as I

Restrained?

bends to pick up the dress, laying it carefully to one side, then continues his circling, caressing my now naked skin with the crop.

growing warm and liquid. Outside, the flush of arousal is rising in a wave over my stomach and breasts,

of her.” The leather tongue circles my nipples, which crinkle

be watched Charlotte?

“Watched, Sir?”

Do you enjoy an audience

hesitate, then, “Yes, Sir.

“Good. Turn around.”

find that the viewing gallery to the room is packed. Startled, I look all around; so

them just want to see you fucked. And some want to see a sub punished for stepping out of line. What do you think? Should I punish you for that? You

don’t understand

out there. You hit a Master. No sub should do that, whatever the provocation. Your

“I’m sorry, Sir.”

nipples, both of them, with an accuracy that speaks of much practice. It stings, and

not tell

head and remain

this evening Charlotte. I thought you would like to know that. But, within those limits, I’m going

trembling with… What? Fear? Anticipation? Arousal? My

He’s barely touched me.

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