Can't Buy My Love: Billionaire and Virgin Romance Collection

by Jamie Knight

  I’m not sure how long we’re running for, but thankfully, we do stop eventually. It’s across from a stately, old-timely-looking mansion/villa. While such buildings are not strange to me, many of the fraternity and sorority houses near the University come from a similar era of architecture, and there are some wealthy boroughs filled with these kinds of houses, it’s strange to find one here in the middle of the city. We haven’t been in this part of the city much, not where we’ve run to, but the mansion still looks out of place. It’s like some mysterious and magical doorway appearing out of nowhere.

  We stop long enough for me to fix my wedged high heels — to make sure they don’t come off or snap at the straps — but soon we’re off again, crossing the street quickly and sneakily. I can barely see what the rest of the girls are after, but I don’t care. My mind is still bemoaning my bad luck: the rip in my skirt and my still-present virginity.

  Is it so wrong to want to feel pretty? Is so wrong and bad to want a guy to complement you?

  At first, as we cross the street and get up on the sidewalk in front of the large mysterious building, and I read the fancy sign with “Club Lush” carved on it, I’m feeling bad for myself. I’m pouting again, but then I decide, no, it’s not wrong. It’s good and right that I should want to feel pretty.

  I’m going to find a good-looking guy at whatever this place is, and I’m going to make him tell me how pretty I am. He’ll buy me drinks and take my virginity, so I can feel confident and gorgeous again. My sister shouldn’t get all the fun!

  We make it in through the front doors of this new club. Britney’s struck up a conversation with a super-dapper gentleman, and his equally gorgeous partner. The partner is wearing a gorgeous black and red corset, and some serious boots and belt straps along her legs and thighs. I’m barely listening to whatever that conversation is. I’m busy thinking about my game plan. Now I’m going to rescue this night for myself.

  After a few more words are exchanged, the gentleman and his partner leave, and we are allowed inside the club. Once through the second pair of double doors, I’m immediately struck by the different vibe of the place. It’s got darker, smokier lights, for one. For two, based on all the naked/kinkily dressed people being whipped on stage and on walls, plus couples leading each other on leashes and in hoods, I know where we’ve ended up. I’ve heard of these places before. This is a sex club.

  I walk with my back straighter, taking in this new place.

  Just as we are getting led to and sat down at a table close to a bar by a waitress, I see another lady approaching. Unlike many of the others here, she is dressed impeccably. She’s in a to-die-for white gown, looking like Marilyn Monroe, with her blonde curls of hair, classically beautiful red lips and eye makeup. She introduces herself as Lady White.

  As we all take our seats, she begins to explain the way things go at her club. “If you’re going to stay, ladies, if you desire to be our guests, you will need to participate in tonight’s festivities. Not just giggle or gawk.”

  Participate in tonight’s festivities? I think, ignoring the noobish questions Britney, Karen and Shay are asking about what she means. I am so down for that! I’ll not just participate, I’m going to partake of the sexiest, most beautiful guy here! I’m going to let him do whatever he wants with me! Over my thoughts, I hear Lady White giving some options to the girls of how to “play” in this den of delights.

  But me, I’ve already got my game plan. It involves chatting up all the sexy men seated around the bar, seeing which one knows how to talk to me the right way first. One of them has to know how to complement and take care of me the way I deserve after such a shitty night out.

  I start my rounds with the handsome group of men, just as I see Melissa scurry away from the table and to the bathroom.

  Poor shy girl. She probably has to go to the bathroom she’s so nervous!

  I saunter closer to the bar, to a man sizing me up. He looks cocky and strong — exactly the kind of guy I need to end this horrid night the right way.

  Better prepare yourselves for me, boys, I think, coming near to my first guy, no one else is going to give you company like I will!

  Chapter Two - Will

  God, I’m so bored. I’ve been coming here to Club Lush every night for the last couple of weeks, and nothing new or interesting has happened, so why do I keep coming back? Why do I keep thinking Lady White’s club is going to get any more intriguing, the more I come around?

  I sigh, looking at my line of empty imported beer bottles. The only thing interesting or shapely in front of me tonight so far.

  All the women here are experienced, been around the block just about as many times as me, and I like fresh. I like my women like I like my beer: unopened.

  I finish off the last of my Jamaican beer, contemplating what otherworldly alcohol I can enjoy — maybe some sake, a spicy, knock-you-out variety. I need something with a bit of bang, since there aren’t any women I’m liable to do that with around here.

  Giving orders to someone who’s never had to take them before, that would be fun. Making her come under my control, how I say, when I say, and when this whole world of BDSM and being my toy is new to her, that would be beyond the great. With that thought alone, I’m starting to feel perky below the belt. My cock is warmed and slightly energized. It would be like what I do at work all day and my parents’ real estate company — boss newbies around for fun. Except this would be with a naked virgin woman, and at my penthouse.

  Enlivened by this thought, a plan begins to emerge: I will find some girl here who looks out of place but interesting, get her to do a couple things for me, take her home, and get her to do a couple more. Blood and heat flow through my cock, making it harder than before. Not enough to show, but enough for me to notice his movement on the underside of my slacks.

  Something in me pings. It tells me to turn around. Though I’m not sure why, I do as my strange feeling dictates. There, the moment I turn my head around to look behind me, is a group of women. They are young women compared to me, that are wandering in here looking lost and intrigued. They are like a bunch of Alices dropped down the rabbit hole.

  One in particular catches my attention. She is being dragged by a young woman that looks almost identical to her, except for their hairstyles. The one dragging her has a curlier, pixie look, while my object of interest has traditional wavy, flowing hair.

  Even from all the way over here, I can see that my pretty young thing has an attitude. She holds herself like she’s the most important woman in the room, despite being currently approached by Lady White. She moves her eyes around the stages and occupied walls as if it’s nothing to be afraid of. It is exciting to her, but not terrifyingly new.

  I turn more fully around on my barstool, intrigued. Her dark eyes flash with eagerness. Her cotton-candy pink lips pucker with a barely-concealed pout. Already, without hearing her speak, I can hear the way she might beg and plead with me. The way she might beg and cry at everything I would love to do to her.

  That is, if I let her talk at all.

  I get up from my barstool, scurrying to my private locker. All us regular customers have one, and they are conveniently located close to the bar. Doing the quick combination to my small, personal locker, I pull out my most favorite item. My hefty, leather ball gag, with a huge, weighty ball attached. I take the thing and slip it into the pocket of my slacks, enjoying the weight there. I also enjoy the image I get of Miss Pouty Princess wearing it for me — having her mouth stuffed with it, being unable to complain or pout at me about whatever I’ve chosen to do with and to her.

  I feel myself go harder just thinking about it — all the moaning and slobbering she’s going to do over that mouthful — how she might tear up because of it, wondering why I won’t let her talk.

  She’s going to be fun to play with, I decide, quickly shutting and locking my locker, and returning to my place at the bar. She’s going to be fun to teach a lesson, and I’m de
finitely in the mood to teach.

  I feel my cock thump defiantly against my slacks, aching to get out and get a taste of this new girl. I push it down fiercely and find my prize again. She’s focused in on the bar — on all of the men gathered around it. There’s a glow to her eyes, a spark in her smile that tells me all I need to know about her: she’s used to getting her way, demanding anything and everything from whomever she thinks ought to give it to her.

  Well, my pouty Princess, you’re about to step into a different world. You’re about to learn how far that won’t get you.

  I sit forward in my seat, watching her as she approaches her first guy of the night. The moment she steps within range, she’s all charm and flirtation. She’s got it dialed up all the way, swishing her hips this way and that, and playing with the arms of the sweater she has wrapped around her waist.

  Once I make you mine, Princess, you’re going to learn just what all that chatter is going to get you: Sweet, total silence.

  I hear her, even from over here, chatting up the guy. She’s trying to entice him into spending time with her or getting her a drink. I hear her plying him for sympathy, saying she had her twenty-first birthday a few weeks ago, and this is the first time she has been able to go out and do anything fun. As I watch her, she begins to untie the sweater some from around her waist. She does so in a teasing, egging fashion.

  “Isn’t that sad?” she asks him. He barely responds to her despite all the charm she’s throwing at him. “Don’t you want to make it up to me? Make up for my crappy birthday a few weeks ago?”

  It’s here, just as my princess starts to hang on the guy, that he straight-up rebuffs her. “Sorry, no,” he says, and turns away from her.

  Seemingly undeterred by the very clear and very flat rejection, the girl plasters on another big and bright smile, and goes in for her next victim, another guy, who she immediately starts chatting up. She says hi, and then leans on the bar next to him. She mentioned something about being here for another friend’s birthday, but she says they are here celebrating her birthday too. She slips in that she’s twenty-one, and really likes this kind of thing.

  “I would really like to be able to try some things tonight,” she says, putting on more sparkle and warmth. Now her smile might as well be made from platinum. She tosses her hair at him, adding, “I promise to be a very good study, if you’ll be so kind as to teach me.”

  “No thanks,” growls the second guy, sounding like he actually has to work for a living, and as a cabbie or something. But he can’t be, because we are all billionaires here. “I don’t mess with guests. I’ve never seen you around here, and I’ll probably never see you again, girl.” The girl pouts at this, looking wounded. “Go celebrate your birthday somewhere else.”

  Pulling herself off the bar, my lonely girl groans, and goes to another guy. As she does, I hear her fuss like the princess I know she is. “Why is everybody so mean?” she says under her breath, “Why can’t I get any of these guys to do what I want?”

  After saying this, she falls silent, becomes determined again, and goes in for another attempt. This time, she’s chosen a guy closer to me. She’s even gone so far as to start pulling down the straps on her top, so it is sitting askew on her shoulder. Making her shoulder bare and available to him.

  All over again, she starts her ritual. She says hi to the unfortunate man of her dreams, tries to talk him up into feeling sorry for her, taking pity on her. Except this time, she says that out of her friends, she is the best looking one there, and the guy should feel lucky that she’s over here talking to him.

  “If you think my face is adorable and gorgeous, you haven’t seen what’s underneath these clothes.” She winds her hair around her finger here, leaning close in. “If you wanted to go play a game with me, you’d get to see how much more beautiful my body is everywhere else. Doesn’t that sound fun?”

  I can tell she’s trying to breathe on him, trying to make him smell her perfume, feel her skin touching him, but the guy’s not having it. He gets up without a word, followed by many more of the men around the bar. But they don’t get up to go with her. They get up to disperse throughout the room, some even leaving the club entirely.

  “Hey!” My little princess stomps her foot. “I was just trying to start up a conversation! You don’t have to leave like that!” She quickly loses her volume, and hangs her head. “Why is nobody interested in me? I’m pretty!” She squeezes her own breasts, fluffing them up. “I have great tits! They should be running to me, not away!” She sighs, looking honestly confused and heartbroken at the situation.

  It’s at that point, her eyes land on me. Unlike the other men she’s tried to flirt with, her eyes don’t spark with excitement upon seeing me. Instead, she frowns. She looks unsure about me. I know it’s our obvious age difference. I probably look old enough to be her father, but then again, I am the only man left for her to visit with.

  I smile at her, willing her to come over my way.

  She does, but it’s with a tired, less enthusiastic smile. She waves cutely at me. “Hey there, handsome,” she says. “Wanna buy me a drink?”

  “Sure,” I purr. “I’ll buy you a drink.”

  This has the exact effect I want. She brightens and fills with confidence. She actually takes a seat next to me, while I order her something. I don’t wait for her to tell me what she wants. Beggars don’t get to be choosers. Not in my world. I order her a mai tai, and I’m happy to see she doesn’t complain.

  She also doesn’t say thank you. Not something I’m turned off by. I just want her to warm up to me. She leans close to me. I can read her nervousness and her need for validation all over her.

  “So,” she says, “do you think I’m good-looking? Is that why you want to buy me a drink?”

  I glance at her, passing the drink the bartender has just finished to her. “I do think you’re pretty,” I say. Again, I get the result I want. The girl giggles, and smiles even wider. She sits up straighter. “And pretty girls deserve a free drink now and again.”

  For myself, I’ve decided to forgo any more drinks. Instead, I watch her begin to enjoy hers. But it seems she’s not enjoying it as much, because she still has room to throw questions at me. Now that I’ve told her she’s pretty, she wants to know what parts, what exactly I find beautiful. She rapid-fires questions at me like some kind of gun.

  “Do you like my eyes? What about my hair? How about my lips?” She perks up her breasts. “How about these? A lot of guys in high school told me they jerked off to these babies.” She doesn’t stop to take a breath, or drink. She just keeps going, prattling on and digging at me for something more about her. “You know, I was homecoming queen in high school. I was also voted prettiest, most likely to be a model in my yearbook.”

  I look at her and say, “I don’t care.”

  I really don’t. I also don’t care that this appears to have crushed her fragile ego. Her constant yammering, her constant need for approval is starting to turn me off of the idea of doing anything with her.

  Meanwhile, my princess sputters in disbelief. She quickly has more of her drink, and asks me if I’m curious to see what the rest of her looks like, assuring me she has a great body.

  And that’s when, to save myself the headache and ditching on my plan, and her from any more embarrassment, I pull out the ball gag from my pants pocket and slam it on the bar.

  “What’s your name, girlie?” I ask, watching as her eyes widen, and her lips tighten around the straw of her drink. Briefly, I imagine that it’s my cock.

  “Samantha,” she murmurs, taking her lips off the straw and pinning her eyes on the ball gag, the leather and rubber dominating it.

  “Samantha,” I say, pushing the gag closer to her, “you’d be a lot prettier with this in your mouth.”

  Chapter Three - Samantha

  Is…that…

  I stare at the object in front of me, unable to believe this handsome, older gentleman jus
t slapped it down on the bar in before me. Is that… a ball gag?! I know that’s exactly what this contraption is. I just still can’t believe someone would just whip out something like this. I mean, I know I’m at some secret BDSM club, where there are actual people naked and strapped up, so this shouldn’t be so much a surprise, but it is.

  I’ve never seen a man so bold. Worse, I don’t know whether to be afraid of that, or turned on. My body is filled with equal parts of fear and a strange, bubbling desire. Even now, his dark brown eyes, framed by pale blond hair, are studying me. They twinkle with amusement and mischief, probably seeing my shock.

  “The name’s Will, by the way,” he murmurs quietly but with authority, “just thought you should know the name of the man who bought you your drink.” He gestures to my mai tai. “Why not have a few more sips?”

  A few moments ago, I might have taken him up on his offer. I might have had a thirst for it, but now that the ball gag’s out on the bar, and baiting me with its presence, I can’t focus. My mouth dries out, and my jaw shutters and shivers with odd, nervous excitement.

  The size of that silicone ball, the thickness of those leather straps — it all makes my heart and mind race. Saliva creeps up from the back of my tongue, just thinking about the size of the ball, and how suffocating and firm the texture would be. I wonder how much it might stretch my mouth. It maybe even bruise my tongue. I’m oddly curious.

  Why am I not afraid of this? Or of him? Tentatively, I glance at him, watching as he grins again. He puts some of his hair behind his ears, just as my focus returns to the ball gag. Why am I not insulted by that? I trace the leather straps. My fingers crawl closer to the rise of the ball in its little fabric holder. I should be. He just said I would be more beautiful with this in my mouth. Momentarily, I feel self-righteous anger rise in me, snap around like the thorns on a rose. Basically, that I would be more desirable to him if I was quiet! If I didn’t talk!