Buying the Virgin

Chapter 20: The Girl Who Sold Herself - Chapter Twenty

Michael’s breathing is slow and steady but deepening and his fingers twist into my hair, his grip

tightening on me.

Abruptly, he pulls away. “It’s wonderful,” he says, bending to kiss the top of my head. “But I don’t want

to blow off in five minutes. We have all evening.”

Un-noticed, my Master has slipped in from the kitchen and is stretched out by us, sprawled in an

armchair by the fire, long legs stretched out, crossed at the ankles. A wine glass in his hand, he

watches us, smiling; the flicker of the flames through the deep red wine casting amber and ruby Material © NôvelDrama.Org.

shadows over the walls.

Lying down, I stretch like a cat on the fur rug, the light of the flames dancing over my skin, Michael joins

me on the fur, stroking my back. His expert fingers ripple up my muscles, probing, investigating.

“You’ve been spending too much time on a computer,” he says. “Your shoulder muscles are knotted.

Lie on your front. Let me work them out for you.”

I turn over and Michael straddles me. “I’ll do this properly later, but I need you on a bed for that. For

now, I’ll just work on those muscle kinks.”

He is right. As his fingers dig into the knots, kneading them out, I grimace and wince. “Serves you

right,” he says. “If you have poor posture or a bad position at your desk, this is the result. Have you got

a proper office chair and desk? Your computer at the correct height?”

“I’ve been making do a bit,” I admit. “I wanted the money to stretch out.”

Michael is silent, and I see my Master pursing his lips.

Michael rises, disengaging from me, and slapping me on the rump, then he flips me over onto my back.

His strength always surprises me. He’s not particularly tall but is stocky and powerfully built, broad-

shouldered and muscular. He turns me over with no obvious effort, sending a rush of arousal through

me.

Looking up from my bed of fur, Michael is kneeling to one side of me, my Master behind him, still

lounging in his chair. Both are watching me and I feel I should give them something to watch.

Holding the gaze of first one, then the other, I stroke my breasts, cupping and caressing, massaging

the smooth pale skin. Tracing the curves with my fingers, I outline my soft white mounds, circling my

nipples, now beginning to stand proud, hard little buds, rosy in the amber light.

Arching my back, I semi-part my knees, inviting Michael in. His head tilts, eyes on me as smiling, he

unbuttons his shirt and cuffs. Fascinated, I watch the play of the candles on the contours of his

muscles, gleaming with a fine sheen of perspiration.

Still standing above me, looking down, he unbelts his jeans, releasing his cock from where it is

straining for freedom.

Kneeling down, he parts my knees further, settling between them, then his strong hands ripple over my

stomach and breasts. Leaning, he kisses my belly and breasts, taking the nipples lightly between his

teeth, nibbling gently and swiping around with his tongue.

It sends a rush of heat through me, and moisture breaks from my pussy. Raising my hips, arms

outstretched, reaching for my Golden Angel, I beckon him in, wanting him inside me, wanting him to fill

me.

Glancing sideways, I see my Master, still watching, his expression solemn, but with the trace of a smile

at the corners of his eyes, his dark hair picking up auburn highlights in the golden light. He takes a sip

from the glass, and unmoving, continues to watch.

Michael covers me, enfolding me with arms and body, his cock nudging against my swelling pussy lips,

but not entering me. Instead, he teases my warming folds, rubbing against my engorging clit, arousing

me further.

My breathing is becoming more rapid. The scent of Michael’s warm skin and of my own growing

arousal mingle into a honeyed perfume of lust and love and erotic togetherness.

I begin to pant, my hips to quiver. “Please,” I say. “Please. I want you inside me.”

Michael smiles acknowledgement, repositioning himself to probe my pussy, pressing in on my

entrance, but still not entering. He revolves his hips, teasing me, tantalizing my now twitching cunt.

“Please Michael. Please.”

In reply, he simply covers my mouth with his, warm lips against mine, his tongue skimming my teeth.

His cock continues its relentless beguiling of my pussy, winding me up an ever-heightening spiral of

arousal.

I try to take him inside me, thrusting my hips forward to sheath him inside me. He allows it, penetrating

me once, and then withdraws.

Almost mindless now with lust, and panting uncontrollably, moaning in short gasps, I try again, but this

time he pulls away, not allowing me to take him. Instead, he backs off, lifts me from under the arms,

and twists me around, depositing me to face my Master, on my knees, between his legs.

I recall the words of my Master from the first time I met him, that he had a fantasy of a beautiful young

girl kneeling naked at his feet, and now I see the curve of a smile playing across his lips. His hand

caresses my face, and his erection pushes at the fabric of his black jeans.

With Michael behind me, massaging my neck and shoulders, I unzip my Master, releasing his long

cock. As I bend to take it, Michael adjusts his position behind me and his shaft once again probes

deliciously against, and into, my now dripping cunt. He pushes and circles, slowly stretching me open,

coating himself with my juices.

As I take my Master’s silken shaft into my mouth, loving it with my tongue, Michael encircles me with

his arms, one hand taking a nipple, the other slipping south between my legs.

He rolls the nipple, already hard, into a tight bud, tweaking and pinching. Little electric shocks jolt down

through me, to combine with the frisson radiating out from where he is gently torturing my clit.

Unable to remain still, I jerk and buck my hips, which makes my head rock so that I cannot properly

service my Master. My mouth follo-ws helplessly behind my body as it twitches and jumps under

Michael’s attentions. My Master does not seem to mind. His erection, already hard, is stiffening further

in my mouth, even as I hear him chuckle over my antics.

Michael finally finishes the matter by plunging deep inside me, opening me wide and effectively

spearing me from within, pinning my movements. Abandoning my nipple, he moves the spare hand

downwards too, slipping back my clit hood with one hand and working my nub with the other. His cock

works my inner muscles, not fast or hard, but relentlessly.

Grinding his hips in a circular motion against me, he massages my g-spot and inner walls, sending

waves of hot moisture trickling down the soft skin of my thighs. His head rests against the side of my

own and his breathing whispers against me, growing heavier and more irregular. He is always a quiet

man, but his small groans shudder through me as his climax takes hold. His cock grows ever larger

inside me until, with a gasp, his control evaporates and he plunges hard inside me, thrusting deep,

stopped only by my inner walls. Again and again, he pounds into me. It hurts, but it is a good hurting

and I want more as my own orgasm arises with his.

My moans are muffled by the mouthful of my Master’s shaft, itself now flowing freely, liquid cream

streaming salty-sweet across my tongue, dribbling down my lips.

With a cry and a final judder, Michael cums into me, squeezing me tight, pushing hard inside. His hips

crush against me, his balls swinging against me as he pumps into me.

Regardless of his climax, he continues to rub and massage my clit. I teeter on the brink of my own

orgasm, tingling, aflame with the need to cum. It hits me full force, cascading through me in waves as I

convulse and moan. I am still in the midst of climax as Michael withdraws from me, spins me on my

knees and presents my still pulsating pussy to my Master.

He drops behind me, ramming inside me hard, pounding me internally as my cunt clenches, and re-

clenches around his thick hard shaft. As my climax fades and I sag, gasping onto my elbows, my

Master grunts and gasps, pressing into me, holding my hips so tightly it hurts. Hot cum and my own

juices run down my thighs until with a final breathy heave, my Master flops down atop me, sated.

After a few moments, he remembers himself and, stroking my arm, murmurs, “Thank you Charlotte.”

before slipping out of me and collapsing onto the fur beside me.

We lie together for a while, not speaking, but just enjoying being together. In the glow of the fire, we lie,

the three of us, in a tumble of arms and legs, until a savoury smell drifts through.

My Master leaps up. “The casserole!” and he charges, still naked, into the kitchen.

Michael looks after him quizzically, but standing, he collects two more of the bathrobes from the wet

room. As my Master dashes back into the lounge, cock swinging, Michael passes him one of the robes.

“Some things are better not loose near flames,” he comments.