Buying the Virgin

Chapter 33: The Girl Who Sold Herself - Chapter Thirty-Three

Feeling uncomfortable, but knowing that I had better finish what I started. “Marcie said that you, both of

you, used to be at the clubs all the time, that you had….” I choke on my words.

“Go on….”

“That the two of you had been through every ‘sub’ for miles….”

“Any more?” His expression is carefully blank.

“And that suddenly, you had stopped a few months ago. That you both vanished and everyone

wondered what had happened.”

Michael stares up at the ceiling. My Master looks down, apparently studying the pile of the carpet. After

a long hesitation, he speaks.

“You happened, Charlotte. You. You happened to both of us, and a game we had been playing together

for years, suddenly wasn’t very…. rewarding, any more.”

He and Michael exchange another, longer look. He continues. “As I told you Charlotte, neither of us

believed you would come back to us after that first week. But we had lost our appetite for the games we

had been playing, and then…. you did come back. And you kept returning to us.” He takes my hand

and kisses it. “Why would we go chasing after something that had become pointless, empty, for us,

when we have you?”

Michael finally speaks. “You never talk of a boyfriend or another man. We thought you would, but you

don’t….?”

I speak slowly, choosing my words. “No, there’s no boyfriend, no-one else. I did try, went on a couple of

dates, but it wasn’t the same. I wanted you, both of you. Whenever some guy got interested, we would

go out, have a couple of drinks, see a movie maybe, but I just found myself thinking about when I am

here……” I trail off, at a loss as to where I go from here.

Michael leans across, and kisses me, full on the mouth. It is long, and passionate and loving, and says

everything that words struggle with. As his arms enfold me, I return the kiss.

“So….” says my Master, watching us from the side. “Where do we go from here?”

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I so look forward to my visits and the time I can spend with my Master and Michael.

Stepping into my Master’s apartment. “Hellooo... Anyone around?”, I call out, kicking off my shoes at

the door.

“Hi, Charlotte.” It is Michael, all smiles, arms held out in welcome. “It’s lovely to see you again,” he

says.

I step into his embrace and he kisses me, lightly, his lips just brushing mine.

I glance around. “Just you?”

“James will be back later. He has some work to do today, but he said to say to you to make yourself at

home.” He glances down at my bags, various textbooks and folders sticking out of the top. “It looks as

though you have work to do as well?”

“Exams next week. I needed some peace and quiet to revise, so he said I could stay here for a few

days.”

Michael laughs. “Peace and quiet? While you’re here? With us?”

“Well, we can’t er…. you know… all the time, can we? And at least afterwards, I’m nice and relaxed to

get some hard studying done.”

“I take your point.” He pulls me in tighter, his arms tightening around my waist. “I’ve missed you.” His

mouth hovers close, his breath sweet on my face. “I wanted to be here when you arrived.” His lips

brush mine again. “It’s the first chance I’ve ever had to be alone with you.”

His meaning sinks in. “Ah… um, do I get a cup of coffee first?”

He laughs. “Sorry Charlotte. Of course you do. You’re barely through the door and I’m jumping on you.”

He turns for the kitchen then, “Or would you prefer wine? I have a bottle on ice.”

“Sounds lovely.”

We sit together in the lounge, sipping chilled cava, Michael’s arm loosely around my shoulder. But I

know what he wants; the tension in his body is palpable. And… it’s an appealing idea, my pussy

warming in anticipation.

He turns to me, kissing my neck, softly but ardently, one hand cupping my face, and fingers slipping

into my hair. His desire is urgent, and I return the kiss, mouth open and my tongue tracing the line of

his teeth. Almost devouring me, his mouth over mine, he glides over my breasts and the flatness of my

stomach with one hand.

Breaking away for a moment, he looks at me, his deep blue eyes boring into mine, His voice husky, “I

wasn’t sure you would want me, without him.”

I feel dreadful. This is Michael, my Golden Angel, who loves me. And he does not know that I want

him?

“Of course I want you. Of course I do.” And I answer him in the only way I know how, embracing him,

holding him close. Kissing him softly, I repeat quietly. “Of course I do.”

His answering smile is like sunshine through clouds. He stands, holding out his hand to me, wiggling

his fingers in invitation. Taking his hand, I am led into the bedroom, my Master’s beautiful mirrored

room.

Will my Master mind? Will he be angry?

I have no time to worry about this, as Michael, very close, his face tilted down to mine, kisses me

again, slowly, gradually, a single kiss at a time on my forehead, down the side of my cheeks, to my lips.

His touch is fleeting, tender and utterly, utterly erotic.

His sheer desire for me is magnetic. He does not want to fuck. He wants to make love. As he trails

more kisses down the beating pulse in my neck, I feel his heartbeat through his chest, pressed against

me, and my own heart begins to race in response.

He says no words, but his depthless eyes speak volumes. One by one, and slowly, he unfastens the

buttons of my blouse until it falls open, then bends to kiss the pale skin of my breasts above my white

lacy bra, my nipples puckering hard in the cooler air as he slips the blouse from my shoulders.

Curving his hands around me, he unclips the bra at the back, allowing it also to fall to the thick carpet.

My large breasts swing free, a little pendulous without support. Bending to take a nipple in his mouth,

as he suckles gently on the rosy bud, I stroke his beautiful wheaten hair, but he takes my hands,

holding them to my side.

“Please,” he says. “Let me. I want to.”

Passively, I allow my Golden Lover to work his magic, tilting my head back, eyes closed, listening to my

own breathing.

As he kneels to unbelt my jeans, my pussy purrs, warming and moistening, readying me for him. He

slides the jeans down, allowing me to step out of them. My plain cotton panties follow, and as his hands

slip them down, his lips caress my stomach, then slip down to my foxy curls.

I moan quietly as his warm breath washes over my thighs, a trickle making its way from my swelling

pussy. His face pressed against me, as his tongue laps at my clit, my blood begins to sing, and my

heart to race.

“Michael….”

He looks up. I don’t know what it is that I want to say, but he stands, sweeps me up in his arms, then

lays me carefully down on the bed, naked and ready for him, wanting him.

I watch as he unbuttons his white shirt, revealing his beautifully muscled torso. He is not so tall as my

Master, but stockily built; broad-shouldered and well-muscled. A scattering of golden hairs lead a trail

down his tight abs, to the line of his belt, and his skin gleams with a fine sheen of sweat.

He struggles a little with the belt. The reason is clear to see; his jeans bulging already, the fit is tight. As

he peels off the jeans, his glistening erection stands tall from its blond nest, to rest, with a pulse-beat

tremble, against his flat stomach. And when my Lover lies beside me, his long shaft presses hard

against my thigh.

His breath is quick and shallow, my own following, as he suckles at a breast, mouthing and sucking at

the hard nub. Flushing warm, from my own arousal and from the heat of his body pressed against

mine, I smell the scent of my own sex, intermingled with Michael’s wonderful spicy aroma.

One hand questing south, a finger dipping into the wetness between my thighs, he circles my clit. My

breath shuddering, he works me, increasing my arousal, sending fire coursing through my veins. I do

not even realise that I have my eyes closed until, as I open them, I find him watching me intently,

smiling as my sexual exhilaration spirals upwards.

Reaching in more deeply, his fingers penetrate my slick entrance, two at first, then three, as he reaches

upwardly for my sweet spot. Rubbing up against my inner wall with his fingertips, he grins as I yelp at

the electricity sparkling through my core. Then, kneeling up, he presses his flat palm down against my

stomach, against my g-spot, increasing the force against my internal walls. This is too much for my

fluidly palpitating pussy, and I gush wet and hot over his hand.

“Oh God, Michael. Get inside me.”