Buying the Virgin

In the dungeon room, Michael places me centrally, under an overhanging brass ring. He cuffs my wrists: wide leather restraints that fit snugly, containing my arms almost to the elbow.

As he clicks the cuffs closed, he leans in, kissing me softly. “I’ve been looking forward to this. It gave me a few ideas, playing with you by the pool the other day….”

“What are we doing tonight?”

He smiles again. “Spoilers,” he whispers.

Simply having Michael speak to me like this, already, is loosening me inside, warming me, and in the close air of the Club, I am beginning to perspire.

My Master arrives, carrying a tray: a bottle of wine, chilling in a bucket, with glasses, and a cup, steaming slightly. He sips from it, then offers me some.

“Coffee?”

“Mmm, no thanks.”

“Wine?”

“No, thanks. I’ve had enough to drink.”

He pours a glass of wine, passing it to Michael. Michael seems to enjoy it, taking a large mouthful, swishing it around his mouth, then taking another mouthful.

The two seem in no hurry. My Master fishes candles from Michael’s bag, placing them around the room, lighting them, to cast a golden glow over the room. Then, turning off the main lights, he leans back against the padded horse, sipping his coffee. Michael loops a rope through the brass ring, and then around my cuffs.

“Time to play Charlotte.” And he draws on the rope, pulling my arms firmly upwards, over my head. “Can you stand comfortably?” he murmurs.

“Yes, I’m fine.”

He glances out towards the viewing windows, where faces are gathering, looking in. Some are clearly visible; others, simple pairs of eyes, reflect whitely, in the fade-to-dark at the back of the room.

my Lover; bare-chested, broad-shouldered, with a scattering of golden hair that traces a fine line down to his belt. I see the eyes of the women

eyes of the men are

out, a flogger, he tosses it across the room to my Master who, still sipping at his drink, catches

tingles. Are they

Of course they are….

matching the bright lipstick I am wearing, it shimmers and glimmers in the candlelight. He tugs at it a couple of times, snapping it tight as though

cup, my Master also removes his shirt and shoes, then strolls over, snapping the flogger a

fully dressed though I am, a warm trickle escapes my heating core, soaking

haven’t even touched

shoulder, the flogger in his hand trailing tails down the naked skin

feeling his erection hard against me, quiver at his words. He backs away from me, with that non-smiling smile of his, allowing

against the darkness, seem mesmerised by the performance. There is not a sound, only the gaze of a

up through the curve of hip and waist, over the roundness of

rising to the nape of my neck, he unbuttons the halter; the two tiny buttons which are all

halter so that it

scarf, pulling it taut over my face.

“No, it’s fine.”

light penetrates the red gauze, bathing my eyes in a fiery mist. Although I can see no details, there is a

crinkling in the sudden coolth as the halter falls away, there is a movement in front

icy wetness laves my left nipple. It rubs briefly around and over my

me. “A chilled wine glass wet with condensation,” he

my left nipple, the right still being

I moan, blind, writhing against my bound wrists, Michael’s arm wrapped around my

sucking. “Your Master,” murmurs Michael, “suckling on you after

Ah.… the coffee….