by Ada Scott
“IFS is a successful business and we hope to prolong our success for a long time, but that is only possible if we continue to operate under the strictest secrecy and care. Just follow all instructions to the letter and you will get your payout, as well as what we hope will be an enjoyable experience for both you and your high bidder,” explains Ada in a sincere tone. It sounds like she’s reading off a script, or from a very well-rehearsed memory. It leads me to wonder how many other girls are out there right now doing the exact same thing as me. But rather than being scary, this actually reassures me somewhat—it’s clear that IFS has done this a hundred times before, and they’ve got it down to an art. That bodes well for me, I think.
“Any questions?” she adds.
“Actually, yes,” I pipe up, surprising myself. “I just wondered how you found me in the first place. I don’t recall ever signing up for anything like this.”
“As mentioned before, we are a team of experts in the business, and we are very skilled at targeting young women we feel are the right fit for our industry. Most of the time, the girls come to us, but in particular situations we may come across someone of our own accord and simply cast a net just in case the young lady is interested. You were one such pick. We cannot reveal exactly how our selections are made, but I can promise that you were carefully chosen, and we are thrilled to work with you, Miss Appleton. Anything else?”
I think for a moment. Nothing specific comes to mind. “Uh, hmm. I suppose not.”
“Well, in that case, it was lovely speaking with you. I’ll be in touch, Miss Appleton.”
And then the line goes dead. I stare at the phone for a moment in disbelief, and nearly jump out of my skin when it buzzes a few times, informing me of new text messages. They contain very detailed instructions on where and when I’m to be trained, along with appointment information at various salons and boutiques.
There’s no turning back now. I’m doing this.
I have a bidder! Someone has bid on my virginity!
“Oh my god,” I gasp, blinking down at my phone screen in disbelief. I’d just gotten finished at the boutique, getting sized and measured so that whatever outfit my bidder wants me in, it’ll fit perfectly.
I lie back on my bed, staring up at the ceiling while my heart gallops along. I can’t believe this! Someone out there is willing to pay big money for one week rolling in the hay with me? That’s insane! I’m nothing special, just an art school virgin with financial problems. It must have been the professional photoshoot they did with me, styling my hair just so, instructing me on how to pout at the camera. It was actually a really fun experience, even if I was terrified. They had me looking like someone totally new.
Usually, the best I could say about my looks is that I’m the girl next door. Nothing mind-blowing about me. I don’t know if any guy has ever looked at me and thought, “Oh she’s hot, I gotta have her.”
But the pictures... A totally new woman.
I can’t believe that somebody—a stranger, no less—thinks I’m worth so much money. Maybe I’m not half as bad as I think I am. I close my eyes and try to picture what my mysterious patron might look like. I shudder to imagine what kind of man would pay this much for my virginity. I’ve seen movies. I’ve seen television. I know the typical skeezy, predatory kind of guy who goes for stuff like this. To have that kind of disposable income to blow on one week with me, he’s probably pretty old. Retired. Bored. Unmarried, perhaps, or divorced. My stomach turns at the thought that he might be married still, using me as a method of cheating on his unknowing spouse.
I bet he’s the older, richer version of those guys I dealt with at the adult club.
With a sigh, I try to push that thought out of my mind. Maybe I’ll get lucky. Maybe he won’t be an old, creepy sleazeball. Maybe he’ll be a young guy, hot and muscular. A playboy with money to spend on whatever whim catches his fancy at the moment. The best I can hope for is to be somebody’s flavor of the week, just a break from his regular day-to-day life, but nothing sinister or gross. It’s too much to expect that he’ll be a good guy. But maybe he’ll at least be good-looking.
Like that bouncer with the beautiful blue eyes.
I feel my whole body tingle just at the thought of him. I quietly slide under the bed covers and slip my hand down inside my jeans, inside my panties, to touch myself gently. What if my mysterious patron looks that good? What if he’s a tall, powerful, stoic man with a gorgeous face? What if he’s a protector of women and a good lover?
It occurs to me how little I know about sex. If I’m lucky, perhaps my bidder will teach me things I never could have imagined. He could cradle me in his arms while he kisses down my body, running his hands over my breasts, grabbing my hips. Telling me what to do and how to move, how to please him. He’ll guide me, whispering how good I make him feel, teaching my body to feel things I’ve never felt before.
I rub my fingertip in a rhythmic circle over my clit, rolling my hips and clapping a hand over my mouth to stop myself from moaning. Spirals of pleasure roll through my body, making me wetter, closer to orgasm.
I imagine him asking me if I’m ready. I’ll tell him yes. And then he’ll slide his cock inside me, slow at first so he doesn’t hurt me too much. Then, once the pain subsides, he’ll start to fuck me harder. He’ll lose himself to how good it feels, how tight and warm my pussy is around his thick shaft. He’ll tell me I’m doing a good job, that I’m the best he’s ever had. And then he’ll shoot his seed inside me, holding me close, kissing me deeply. Staring down at me with those blue eyes.
I come with a gasp, my pussy convulsing with waves of bliss. I open my eyes wide, breathing hard as I come down from the high. As I’m lying there tired out and calm, my phone starts ringing suddenly at top volume.
“Hello, Miss Appleton?”
“Hi, yes, it’s Jane!”
There’s a pause and I can almost feel the woman’s warm smile. I met with Ada and she told me everything I needed to know and then some. I’ve never felt so prepared for anything in my life...well, maybe not that much. But I feel way more confident after our meeting.
“I’m calling to inform you that there’s a second bidder on your account. However, he’s requested we rush things along and offered a handsome fee on top of his bid to account for the haste. He wants your week to start in two days.”
I have never been this nervous in my life. Not when I turned in my final project last semester. Not when I went bungee jumping with a high school friend. Not even when I first moved in with my grandparents after my own parents died in a car crash. This is next-level anxiety.
I pace the length of my swanky hotel room at the MGM Signature, goosebumps prickling up on my bare skin.
Yesterday my outfit and a tiny bottle of Chanel Coco Mademoiselle perfume arrived in an unmarked, unceremonious brown cardboard box on my doorstep. Thankfully, I was home alone at the time of its arrival. My grandpa was down at the body shop perusing parts for his project car, and Granny was at the community bake sale. I was just sitting on my bed reading when the doorbell rang, and even though I rushed to the door as fast as I could, by the time I got there, the coast was totally clear. It was like the delivery person simply evaporated into thin air, leaving only the box behind.
Now I’m standing in the middle of this luxury hotel suite, complete with a fancy balcony view over the city of Las Vegas, dressed in a gorgeous, black patterned dress that’s cropped to just above my knees in the front but with a longer, flowing train in the back. It came wrapped carefully in a little parcel with the name Marchesa splashed across the front, and I don’t even want to think about how expensive it must be. Underneath, I’m wearing a delicate white lace sheer lingerie set. And the only reason the train of my dress doesn’t drag the carpet is that I’m tottering around in velvety scarlet pumps. I haven’t measured the heel, but I’m definitely standing considerably taller than my usual five-foot-three.
Yesterday I got my whole body waxed for the very first time. I h
ave never known such pain. And this afternoon I had to go back to the spa so a makeup artist could spend two hours making my face look ethereally beautiful before coming to the hotel. I left my car parked at the spa, where they told me a representative from IFS would collect it. They sent me straight from the spa to the hotel in a glossy black town car.
I’m exhausted, terrified I’ll accidentally rip my dress or smudge my makeup. My feet hurt already. But they say that beauty is pain, I suppose, and I need to be perfect for my mystery bidder. I need to be worth the money he’s paying for me.
As for lying to my family—the timing worked out perfectly for the start of the next semester. They were heartbroken to see me go.
Of course, once this week is over I’ll have to explain to them why I’m back at home again instead of at school, but that’s a problem for future me. For now, I’ve got to get through this week.
I sit down on the edge of the bed, resting my feet for a moment. I’m not used to wearing heels—especially not this high. Come to mention it, I’ve never worn anything this flashy or elegant in my life. Even at my high school prom I wore a thrift store vintage dress I got for fifty bucks. Don’t get me wrong, I think I looked pretty damn good considering the price tag, but still…
Look at me now: designer clothes, newly smooth body, sexy lingerie, sky-high heels, flawless makeup. I look like I’m about to step onto a red carpet somewhere. Instead, I have no idea where I’ll end up. Or with whom.
There’s a knock at the hotel door and my blood runs cold. I check the time. It’s 6:00 PM on the dot. At least I know one thing about my bidder so far: he’s punctual. I take a deep breath and force myself to calmly walk over to the door. I smooth down my dress, will my heart to slow down, and open the door to reveal my mystery guy.
Caleb
I’ve always been a man of action. Through all the shit I’ve seen in my life, I’ve always been ready and able to think, speak, or act in a heartbeat, my mind always sharp and my body always capable.
But when I lay eyes on Jane... For the first time in my life, I’m speechless.
Every part of her is stunning. My eyes meet hers first. The light catches her brown irises just so that they shine like dark amber. The rest of her face could be something right out of a portrait, like the makeup on it was made for her face. The lighting catches it and brings out her already gorgeous natural features.
The smell of her perfume makes me feel even more drawn in as my eyes trail down her. Her dress suits her body perfectly, and the way the hem plays across those thighs makes me hungry to see what’s under it.
It’s the same woman I recognize, yet she’s so much more.
I was expecting my date to be made up. I never expected her to look this good.
Still, while my heart pounds, I rein in the primal desire I feel for her, and all that emotion flashes inside my muscled chest with no hint of it showing on my face.
A few seconds have gone by between us, and we still haven’t said anything—we’re just looking at each other—and it’s then that I realize she’s looking at me, too. Those eyes have already given me a once-over. I can tell, because when our gazes meet again, she’s struggling not to take a second look at the hardened muscle mass just barely held inside my tailored suit.
That, and there’s a faint blush in her cheeks. I like that. A smile finds its way to my lips, and I step forward. She turns her head ever so slightly, as if she’s waiting to see what I’ll do, which one of us will break the spell first.
Or maybe she’s just a deer in the headlights?
A single lock of hair is astray by her temple. Somehow, the tiniest imperfection makes her all the more appealing to me. I knew she would be put together for all this, but her whole body is an event, and the little details stand out wonderfully to me.
I reach a hand out without thinking. It’s a fluid, simple motion as I reach out to the stray curl. When it touches my fingers, I feel that it’s even softer than it looks.
I tuck it behind her ear gently, and the color in her cheeks only grows a little—the rest of her is still, but not like a statue. There’s a life to her, an energy I can’t put my finger on, and it’s just waiting, watching.
Then, finally, a smile on her full lips. My heart feels like it does a somersault in my face. Just that little action on her part gives my body such energy. Who the hell is this girl who can make that happen to me with so little effort?
Finally, I break the spell of our golden silence.
“Nice to finally meet you,” I say, “I’m Caleb.”
Her eyelashes flutter, and her smile grows a little. There’s a moment’s hesitation. She catches herself, and her fading blush comes back before she extends her hand with the palm facing down.
“Jane,” she says, barely above a whisper.
Before she can say another word, I take her hand, but instead of kissing it, I gently pull it forward and lean past it and put my hand on her hip. As I near her face, I can practically feel the heat radiating off her before I put my lips to her cheek. It’s smooth, soft, and warm. I feel like I’m on holy ground by touching her, and I feel her fingers hug my hand gently as she relaxes into it.
The kiss was supposed to be polite, but with Jane, I feel like we’ve spilled into something so much more than that. Both of us want so badly to make it more, right here, right now.
I hear her draw in breath. It’s short, gentle, and sudden, but it’s not one of fear. The kiss only lasts a moment before I draw back, but it feels like it lasted so much longer.
There’s something even more genuine about the smile on her face when it’s over.
“I…” she starts to say, lost for words, but then she looks past me and down the hall outside the room.
It’s one of the security guys who’ve been subtly patrolling the area. I might not have noticed them if I didn’t know how security personnel worked when trying to keep a low profile, but seeing them on the way in only gave me a better feeling about all this. Good to know this organization has their shit together. Apparently worried that his cover might be blown, he casually heads for the stairs.
With that out of the way, she looks up to me and steps back, letting me into the room.
I close the door behind us, and finally, we feel alone.
“Jane,” I repeat, giving her another once-over as she runs a hand over her dress to smooth it out. I can tell now that we’re alone, she’s hiding some nervousness. She hides it well, though. I wouldn’t notice if I weren’t trained to spot jumpy people. “That’s a nice name.”
“Thank you,” she says, still a little formally. It’s becoming clearer now that she’s not used to this kind of thing, and it makes her seem even cuter. The next moment, though, she smiles and adds, “I always thought it was a little boring. There are thousands of us.”
I haven’t let go of her hand, and I take the other one as I face her. “Oh? Well, looking the way you do tonight, I think you do Janes everywhere a favor.”
That makes her laugh a little, and I can practically feel her relax in my hands before she looks away for a moment. I can feel the question on her lips, and I take the initiative.
“It’s nice to see you again,” I say.
“You too,” she says, looking relieved that I addressed the elephant in the room. “I didn’t think I would.”
“Me either,” I say, “at least, not like this.”
A flash of anxiety flashes across her face a moment. “Not what you were expecting?”
“No,” I say, bringing my hands to her hips and letting her hands go free. They slide down my thick forearms, feeling the tight muscles underneath my suit. “This is much better than I could have hoped for. You must be full of surprises, Jane.”
She seems to like that, and her eyelashes flutter again. “You’re one to talk,” she says, a little more comfortable in tone. “I can’t imagine what kind of exciting life you must lead.”
“I’d like to show you,” I say, and that color comes right back to h
er cheeks. Still, she manages to keep her composure more than I could have imagined. For someone so obviously new to this side of Las Vegas and everything it has to offer, she’s good.
She’ll be perfect for tonight.
She takes a step back from me and moves to the bed, looking over her shoulder at me for a moment as she goes.
Her figure moves with so much grace that I can hardly believe she’s real. I know what she’s hinting at when she takes a seat on the bed, her legs together to the side so beautifully as she runs her hand over the silken sheets, inviting me over.
“So, Caleb the mysterious bouncer,” she says, her voice low, hiding her nervous edge, “just what do you want to show me tonight?”
I like her.
I move to the bed, striding with confidence and ease, and she drinks in my every movement, her eyes full of so many emotions that are all just on the verge of welling up and spilling out. It would be so easy to push her over that edge right here and now.
She’s a virgin. There’s so much to life that she hasn’t come close to touching yet, so much that I could really do with her, do to her, make her forget all her worries and take her to new heights.
But tonight isn’t about that. Tonight is–was–about work.
Still, it doesn’t mean I can’t have a little fun.
I sit beside her, my weight sinking into the bed a little, and her legs stir as she watches me. I can tell she’s unsure whether she should be doing something or just letting me have her however I want. My mind flits back to the note from IFS encouraging me to inspect her hymen, and I have to keep myself from laughing. I wonder if anyone actually does that. No wonder she’s nervous if she thinks this might become an impromptu gynecologist appointment.
I take her slender hand in mine and wrap my other arm around her, drawing her close to me. She sucks in a breath as I lean in, but she doesn’t move away. She’s prepped herself well for this.
“Anything you want,” she breathes, turning her head ever so slightly to me, those dark amber eyes shining almost with a light of their own. It takes a lot of willpower not to thrust her back onto the bed and ruin the ensemble she’s dressed up in, lipstick to heels.
