Buying the Virgin

Chapter 41: The Girl Who Sold Herself - Chapter Forty-One

“So, Charlotte,” says my Master, “the choices are: “Do you want to fuck now? Or wait a while, until Michael returns, to make love?”

Did he have to say it like that?

Something inside me crumples. I swallow hard, looking down, refusing to meet my Master’s face, as my eyes well.

“Charlotte what’s wrong?” His voice is sharp, then with one finger, he tilts up my chin, forcing me to look him in the face. I fight back tears. I will not cry in front of my Master. But his face softens.

“Charlotte. What’s wrong? Talk to me.”

I don’t speak. I just stand there, chewing my lip, resisting the pricking at the back of my eyes.

He takes a breath. I can almost see him replaying the last minute or so in his head. Then he stares up at the ceiling.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said it like that, should I?”

He releases his grip on my wrists but keeps me caged against the wall, by his body.

“Charlotte. Do you really believe, that I don’t feel anything for you?”

My voice is small. “But you never have said so, Master. Not once.”

“And I need to?” He does not smile. His eyes are depthless, dark. “Charlotte, say something. Talk to me.”

“I’m not looking for sunset and rainbows, Master. I know that was never in the deal. How could it be? I’m just the girl you bought. But….”

“But...?”

“But…. I want to feel that I’m more to you than just someone you have sex with….”

Now he looks exasperated. “Charlotte. If all I wanted, was someone to ‘have sex with’, as you put it, I’d still…. Michael and I would still… be visiting the clubs several times a week, as we did before you entered the picture. We were never short of choice. Without wishing to blow my own trumpet, l, and Michael, are pretty good at what we do, and neither of us is bad looking. We always found what we wanted, when we went looking….”

Still, I say nothing. What do I say?

And these days, we don’t go

I upset you. I didn’t mean to.” He strokes a lock of hair behind my

passionate… impassioned…. His hands curve to the small of my back, up across my spine

never touched me like this before. For the thousand times he has kissed me, his kisses have been sexual, or erotic, warm, loving, tender,

fervour of his kiss sets my spine tingling, sending goosebumps skittering over my skin. His heart is hammering against me, matching my own, as it batters

It’s all a front. He’s in

he breaks off, mainly I think, because he needs to breathe, I look up into his

in

again. “Charlotte. I’m older than you; a lot older. I took your virginity. I can’t take your life from

I don’t understand

years, you will be qualified, and the world will be your oyster. It

course he fuckin’

juddering and jarring,

What have I unleashed?

I must deal

him my brightest smile. “You

his head,

“I’d love to fuck.”

and he kisses me

me over the back of the settee. Head dangling down, my skirt is pulled up, and my panties down,

like best about your lovely, pale skin,

rhetorical question? Nonetheless, “No Master. What is it you like?” Then I yelp

colour up so beautifully when I do this.” And he slaps again, now hard enough to make me

“Say ‘Thank you, Master’.”

“Thank you, Master.”

“I daresay it comes with your

Slap!

burns me. Other people

Very dangerous for someone as pale

Slap!

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