Buying the Virgin

Chapter 31: The Girl Who Sold Herself - Chapter Thirty-One

I wake, sunlight slanting across the bed and lie, staring up at the ceiling.

What was wrong with me last night?

I must be nuts. As if my Master would allow anything, or anyone, to hurt me.

I turn and startle as I find him, propped up on an elbow, watching me from above.

“Sleep well?” he asks. NôvelDrama.Org holds © this.

“I did, yes, thank you Master……Master?”

“Mmm?”

“I’m sorry I was so silly last night.”

His eyes widen, his head tilting slightly. “Silly?”

“About going to the club, I mean…… could we go another night? Tonight perhaps?”

He hesitates. “You’re sure of that Charlotte? It’s what you want?”

“Yes, Master. I am.”

A slow, gradual smile illuminates his sombre face. He reaches to trace the outline of my lips with a

finger. “Of course we can.”

He looks over me…” Michael…”

“I heard,” says Michael’s voice, still a little sleep befuddled. “You just ruined my plans Charlotte.”

“Really? How?”

“I’m going to have to save myself for this evening, or I’ll be no good to you. But I’ve woken up with a

raging hard-on and I was just about to do something about it…”

*****

Unsure of what to expect from a ‘Club’, I am reassured by the surroundings: a crowd of people

humming around a bar, chatting, drinking, some dancing. Various doors off, lead to darkened rooms. A

smell of chlorine, suggests a pool or jacuzzi somewhere close by, as do couples wandering around

wearing only a towel.

“Want to look around, Charlotte? We can show you around if you like, or just have a wander if you

prefer.”

“I’ll look around myself, Master.”

“Fine, Michael and I will be over here by the bar.”

The two start chatting with a group of people who they obviously know of old. Or to be precise, my

Master talks, whilst Michael stands and listens. He seldom says much.

Drink in hand, I sip, as I amble aimlessly around the floor, peering down the dark corridors. Several

strange guys, some quite attractive, are trying to catch my eye, but I look the other way and move on.

Some rooms are empty. In others, groups of people, some couples, some many more, in various

stages of dress and nudity, are preoccupied with each other. A girl in stockings and no more, locked in

an iron-barred cage, invites passers-by to stroke, or feel, or fumble.

A blond woman, her make-up rather over-made, and hair with that brassy look that suggests it comes

from a bottle, intercepts me.

“Hello. Charlotte, is it? You’ve come with James and Michael then?”

There is something about the woman that I don’t care for, but I am the stranger here. Good manners

seem politic. “Yes, that’s right.”

She says to me “Well it’s nice to meet the mystery girl at last.”

“Sorry? I don’t follow you?”

“You. The mystery girl.” She points at my chest with her glass, and I hope that she hasn’t drunk so

much, that her cocktail ends up all over my lovely dress. “We’ve all been wondering what happened to

those two.” She head-points my Master and Michael, who are standing at the bar, still chatting with

another group.

“I’m really sorry, but I’ve no idea what you mean.”

She rolls her eyes at me. “Your two guys there, James and Michael. We used to see them here at least

a couple of times a week, especially Blondie there. Then, they just vanished from the scene.” She

leans in, whispering conspiratorially. “Rumour had it that there was some girl had her hooks into them -

no offence meant - I mean who wouldn’t want to with those two? But none of us could figure out who it

could be. And now, up they pop again, with you in tow…”

I am beginning to feel uncomfortable with this one-sided conversation, and start to make my excuses,

but she snags me by the arm, and I can find no polite way to disengage myself. I cast a glance

sideways, to see that my Master is watching me.

I roll my eyeballs towards her, in a mute appeal to be rescued from this obnoxious woman. He makes

some excuse to the group, starting to make his way over to me through the crowd.

“I mean….” she continues, “Go on, tell me, what’s your secret?”

“My secret?”

“Yeah. How did you nab them? Between them, they must have worked every sub who came through

here, and every other club within twenty miles, and then, they just stopped. What did you do to them?”

My brain finally catches up with my ears. “I’m sorry, but do I understand you correctly? Are you telling

me that they are being faithful to me?”

“You mean you don’t …...?”

She is interrupted by my Master’s arrival. “Good evening Marcie. How lovely to see you.” He leans

forward to give her a polite kiss, but I notice that it is an air-kiss to either side of her face, and he does

not actually touch her at all.

He offers me his arm. “Michael is missing you, Charlotte. Please excuse me, Marcie. Michael wants to

introduce Charlotte to some of our friends.”

As we walk away, “Who is she, Master? A friend of yours?”

“Not exactly. I can’t stand her. She’s a gossip, and she doesn’t know when to stop talking.”

I suck in my cheeks and remain silent.

We spend a pleasant hour or so ‘circulating’, Michael and my Master introducing me to their circle of

acquaintances, as I sip wine and try not to make a fool of myself. Several of the men and some of the

women are clearly interested, angling for an invitation into whatever my Master and Michael have in

mind. No invitations are forthcoming, and I begin to relax, to enjoy myself.

What do they have planned?

Eventually, my Master turns to me. “Ready to play Charlotte?”

I swallow hard.

Tilting my chin up. “I think so Master, yes.”

My Master and Michael lead me downstairs, through semi-lit corridors, to a thick, carven, oak-fronted

door.

Pushing it open, they pause at the doorway to let me see inside, pointedly allowing me the space to

back away if I want to.

Inside, arranged as the kind of classic dungeon you could see in any Hollywood movie, it has every

appearance of a Medieval torture chamber, with a rack, chains and manacles hanging from the walls,

and a heavy, timber carved cross mounted upright.

A series of wide windows set into the walls of the room, heavily barred in wrought iron, provides a

viewing platform for spectators from the outside corridors. The corridors outside are dark. The room

itself is in a kind of half-light. Good for looking in, but not out.

I hesitate…… My heart races and my breath comes in short starts……

But I asked to come here. I asked to play these games.

“You trust us, don’t you, Charlotte?” My Master’s gaze is keen.

“Of course, I trust you. Both of you.”

Holding my head high, I step into the chamber, Michael and my Master flanking me. Perhaps I might

have found the array of equipment intimidating; a bench, ropes dangling from the ends, brass rings set

into the walls, a rack containing whips, floggers and flails, but my Master’s promise is with me.

And Michael loves me.

As we step inside, Michael looks at me for a moment, drops back a step, closes the door and firmly

draws the bolt. Any person standing at the barred windows can see anything that happens inside here,

but no-one can enter until the door is unbolted from the inside.

A small crowd is gathering around. Ready to see a show? There are a lot of them. They stare in, fifty

pairs of eyes….

…. But I know what my Master and Michael have done, keeping them out, to keep me feeling safe.

My Master, pausing to choose, takes a flogger from the rack, red braided leather around the handle,

and long black tresses in a suede-soft, velvety hide. With a crack, he flicks it at the leather studded

padding of a bench, and I start at the noise. He strokes it under my chin, holding my eyes as he does

so. He does not smile at me, but I sense the smile inside.

I am panting hard now, pulse beating fast, and the blood singing in my ears.

My Master holding me by one arm, Michael by the other, I am turned on the spot, displayed to the

watching crowd.

Michael, behind me, first pulls the lower folds of the dress to one side, displaying my legs to the

watchers, bare to the hips, no panties. Eyes, male and female, follow his every movement. Then,

slowly, he unbuttons the halter of the beautiful dress

The halter unfastened, and the lovely thing falls away from me in a puddle of black sparkle, leaving me

naked to the crowd.