Buying the Virgin

Chapter 60: The Girl Who Came Back - Chapter Sixteen

I hold him to me, stroking his hair. “It’ll be alright, Master. We’ll work it out…. And I never thanked you,

and Michael, for saving me from those thugs.”

And now, Michael is here, on the other side of the bed, trying to hold me too.

“How long have you been there?” my Master asks.

“All the time. I saw you come in; sat outside to eavesdrop.” His tone is unapologetic. “I heard every

word.”

Both are trying to hold me at once. Caught in the middle between them, “Hey, take it easy guys. I’m

feeling fragile.”

*****

“You never told me what happened to those two you rescued me from.”

“They got away,” says my Master. “Although one has, I’m pretty sure, a broken arm. I heard the crack.

And the other will probably be limping for some time to come, after what I saw Michael doing to him.” ConTEent bel0ngs to Nôv(e)lD/rama(.)Org .

“Was it bad?”

“Not really,” shrugs Michael. “They were happy enough to try assault and rape on a girl alone, but not

nearly so brave when James and I evened up the odds. They ran, and we didn’t really chase because

of you.” He looks down and away. “Jeez, Charlotte, when I saw your head crash into that wall and you

went down, I thought….”

“So did I,” says my Master. “Anyway, we contacted the police and got you to a hospital. Then, we went

back to clear out your room and bring everything back here for the moment. The hospital was not

happy about releasing you to us. They only agreed when I paid to have one of their doctors here on

standby….. Although they didn’t phrase it like that. I had to make rather a large donation to their ‘New

Wing’ fund…”

“Here? A doctor on standby, here? That must have cost a fortune…”

He gazes at me, levelly. “And you think I would begrudge the money?”

*****

“I’d like to get up today.”

I am still a bit wobbly, but sitting outside, just watching the sea, feels good. Michael sits with me, saying

nothing, holding my hand. I see him glance down, fingering the empty spot where, previously, I wore

the two rings.

He looks away again, staring out to sea.

*****

Inside the house, I find the rings, just where I left them on the mantle some weeks ago. I can’t yet bring

myself to wear them, but don’t want to ignore them. So, I compromise.

Fishing out a small locket from my belongings, I slide it off its chain, slipping on the matching rings

instead, gleaming bright, in red and white and gold. Hanging the chain around my neck, I tuck it under

my clothes.

*****

As I stand, staring out of the window, over the endless sea, my Master stands behind me, head resting

on mine, one arm around my waist.

“Master, do you realise what today is?”

“Mmm… No. What is today?”

“It’s exactly a year ago, that you bought me.”

“Is it? Yes, so it is.” He leans in, kissing my neck, but makes no other move.

“Master, do you know what I want?

“Mmmm?”

“Can we…. can we do that again? Like it was on that first day, when you took me back to the

apartment…”

“Charlotte? You want me to…?

“Yes. We can start over, start again.”

“I’d like that.” He is silent for a moment, then “You know it’s odd, but despite everything that has

happened in the last year, everything we have done together, you still feel like the Virgin I met that first

day, when I saw you on the podium, so scared, as you sold yourself.”

He turns me to face him and kisses me, so softly, like the kiss of a butterfly.

“Do you want Michael here?” he murmurs.

“Yes, but in a little while. Just for now, I’d like it to be just we two.”

He strokes my face, my hair. “You’re sure you’re ready for this?”

I nod. “Yes, Master. I want us to have what we had before. All of us.”

He nods, his eyes soft. “Yes.”

His hands stroke down my shoulders and my arms, clasp momentarily around the smallness of my

waist, before stroking back upwards over the flat of my belly to cup my breasts. Stooping, he kisses my

neck, the hollow of my throat, and one hand slips up, to unclip my ponytail, before shaking through my

copper hair, allowing it to flow around me, cloud-like to my waist.

His expression is strange, with an almost unbelieving quality to it. Myself, I feel dreamlike, tranced. This

is my Master, and we are Making Love again.

My palms flat on his chest, he unbuttons my blouse.

Each button is slipped loose until the fabric falls open and he slides his fingers over my breasts before

bending to kiss them. He slips away the blouse and unclips my bra, almost in a single movement, then

pauses for a moment, staring. He fingers the pair of rings, dangling on their fine chain around my neck.

His eyes meeting mine, he stoops again to kiss a nipple, which puckers and crinkles.

And now, I unbutton his shirt. Again, a button at a time, I open the garment before slipping it from him,

scenting his maleness, a heady, musky, perfume which I loved from the first time I was so close to him.

Trembling a little, my fingers trace the outline of his chest, firmly muscled, his abs, tight and well-

formed, the scattering of hair which gathers to a line leading to his belt.

Biting my lip, I look up at him. His eyes, always dark, are like deep pools, and he also is trembling.

As I stand before him, bare-breasted, his hands follow the curve of my waist to my belt, pause for a

second as he glances at me…

Asking permission?

…. then he unbuckles me, sliding down my jeans and panties in a smooth movement, allowing me to

step out of them.

Reaching under, he lifts me, laying me on the bed, then sits beside me. Kissing me, he sweeps his

hands over my naked skin, and a shudder of arousal skitters through me, my breasts flushing. As he

parts my thighs, my breathing judders, and panting, I watch him as he pushes a pillow under my hips.

He really is replaying our first day, the day he bought me and took my virginity, so carefully, and with

such thought, and gave me one of the best days of my life.

We were strangers then.

He kneels between my legs, leaning forward for a moment, to kiss me again, softly, on the lips, to

stroke my hair, then he dips between my thighs with his fingers, caressing, parting my moistening folds

with his fingers, feeling at my growing wetness. A finger slips inside me, his thumb rubs over my clit,

and I moan, quietly.

He drops his face between my thighs, bathing my core in the heat of his breath. His breathing is rapid,

his skin perspiring. His lips brush my bud, and I whimper as his touch, exquisitely sweet, stabs through

me, shivering and jerking with each motion, as his tongue laves my hard clit. He drops to my flowing

pussy, lapping at me as my hips quake under him.

Orgasm blooms, warmly, rhapsodically, rising from my core like the rush of a fountain, flowing through

me, bathing my sex, pulsing through my belly and thighs. I arch, straining, as I cry out.

As my climax subsides, he stands, stripping off the remainder of his clothing, leaving them heaped on

the floor as, fully erect, he lies between my legs to push gradually inside me. Penetrating me slowly, a

hand on my breast, he watches me, still with that same unbelieving expression.