Buying the Virgin - Box Set Three, The Virgin's Summer: Love, Ménage and BDSM between a Young Woman, her Master and her Lover (Buying the Virgin Box Set Book 3)

by Simone Leigh

  We stroll down grassy slopes, the turf sheep-clipped short. At the water’s edge, dragonflies zig-zag, lilies spread their green pads across the shallows, framing oyster-pink flowers, seemingly carved from wax. A little way along, old willows line the edge, straddling grassy banks that drop to the narrow gravelly shoreline.

  Michael looks around, scanning the landscape.

  “What are you looking for?”

  He smiles, “Privacy.”

  There is no-one about, only the two of us. He leads me by the hand. Under the cover of the trees, in an enclosed bower formed from the weeping of the willow, the air is still and warm, the light dappled green and gold.

  He stands before me, my Golden Lover, brushing back errant locks from my face, my hair as rebellious as ever. A hand on either cheek, he bends, brushing his lips against mine; a soft, fleeting touch; utterly sensual, utterly tender.

  Even in my current state of mind, my body responds to him, a tingle running through me, smooth and warm. My lips parting, I slip fingers through his hair, drawing him closer.

  “I love you.” he says.

  “I love you too.”

  “Don’t just say the words.” he says. “When I hear it, I want it to be because you mean it, not because you think it’s what I want to hear.”

  “Michael, I….”

  He presses a finger to my lips, then casts around, looking at the ground. He takes off his jacket, spreading it over the grass. “Lie down.” he murmurs.

  Holding me with his eyes, the leaf-mottled sunlight a brilliant halo through his hair, he presses me down, one hand by my waist, one on a shoulder. As I lie back on his jacket, I start to pull up my tee-shirt. He presses my hand down. “No, you’ll be cold. Keep it on. Um, you can take the boots off though.”

  Chuckling, I unravel the laces of my walking boots.

  He unbuckles my jeans, unzips me and slides them down, along with my panties, leaving me naked below the waist. Kneeling between my legs, he stoops to kiss my belly, my sex.

  I lie back, head cradled in the springy turf, eyes closed. The warmth of his breath curls over my thighs, the heat of his lips on my skin. My troubles melt away in a soft haze of arousal. My magical Lover, always there, always my anchor in the storm….

  Except….

  “Michael… why won’t you believe me, when I say that I love you?”

  He raises his head, sighs, and slides up my body, his face settling next to mine. He doesn’t speak, but is unbelting, kicking off boots, shucking off his jeans.

  Finally, his erection pressing hard and warm against me, he says. “Charlotte, I’ve had a lot more women than, I believe, you have had men. I know the difference between passion… arousal, lust… whatever you want to call it, and Love.”

  He settles between my thighs, kissing my neck, hands running over my face.

  “And yet, here we are?” I ask.

  He raises himself on an elbow, looking down at me, his lips pressed together, and gives a small nod of acknowledgment. “And yet, here we are…” He stoops to kiss me.

  “Michael, if what I feel for you isn’t Love, I don’t have a label for it.”

  He raises himself again, his brilliantly blue eyes gazing into mine, soft, semi-lidded. He strokes my face. “That’ll do.” And he bends to kiss me, opening his mouth over mine.

  My pussy responds to him, running warm to his touch, and as he presses himself inside me, I welcome him in. With series of short, gasping breaths, I arch, raising my hips to meet him. He thrusts forwards slowly, in slow strokes, easing in, coating himself in my honey, before gradually, smoothly, he sheathes himself inside me.

  Almost in slow motion, he takes me, loving me with his body, his cock kissing me inside.

  I don’t come. In my current state of mind, I am not capable of it, and I think he understands this. But he does, sighing into my neck and hair, as he climaxes within me.

  He kisses the soft skin of my throat, then raises himself again, gazing down at me. “Whatever it takes, whatever it is, I will be here for you. Understand that.”

  My fingers caress his cheekbones. “I do. Thank you. Knowing that makes me stronger.”

  ——————————————

  Back at the Beach House, Michael holds a large brown envelope.

  “Is this it? What Jansen was trying to blackmail you with?”

  I eye the envelope. “Yes. I was going to destroy it, but I’d not gotten around to it. It hardly seems to matter now.”

  “It matters to you.” Michael pauses, reflectively. “Charlotte, may I? Can I look at this?”

  I falter…

  “If you say ‘No’, I won’t look.”

  “No, it’s alright. If you want to, you should see it too, I think.”

  Frowning, he riffles through the brochure and marketing documents, glancing up at me as he does so, then spotting the data key, clicks it into the laptop USB.

  My courage fails me. “Sorry, but you’ll have to excuse me. I can’t bear to watch it. I’ll come back in a few minutes.”

  His eyes follow me out of the room, before turning back to where the video has opened up on the screen. I exit the kitchen, hearing behind me:

  “Charlotte, it is entirely your choice, but are you willing to undress at this stage, on the podium? It will almost certainly help you to bring a better price.”

  “Undress now? All the way?”

  “It’s up to you, Charlotte. No-one is going to make you. But the better they can see what they are buying, the better your chances…….”

  “…. C’mon. Let’s see the rest….”

  When I return, ten minutes later, Michael is sitting, staring at a blank screen, looking upset. I sit down, next to him. He breathes in, deeply.

  “What was going through your head when you did that? When you stood, naked on that podium, and they bid for you?”

  “Um, I was a bit spaced-out actually. Mainly, I was thinking that the numbers I was hearing were more money than I’d ever seen in my life, and half of it was mine. All I had to do was keep my nerve for a week.” Then I falter. “That all seemed pretty reasonable until Richard told me what happened to that other girl….”

  He slips his hand over mine.

  “Why did you come back to us, Charlotte? You went through that, after everything that had preceded it, and then James and I…. We…. You had the money. You could have started your life over, and never had to set eyes on us again, but you came back. Why?”

  “Because I wanted to. Because both of you were honest about it; about what you wanted, and that you were paying me, very well, for it. The things we did… you were both so gentle, and kind, and careful with me. You never forced me into anything. I chose all of it.”

  “Alright, so we didn’t hurt you. but that doesn’t answer the question. Why did you come back?”

  I came back, at first, because I simply wanted more, of both of you. Later, I realised I’d fallen in love.”

  His face twists. “With James, not with me.”

  “It took longer with you, that’s all. And it’s different with the two of you. It was only meant to be for a week, but later, the more I thought about what had happened during that week, the more I wanted to be back with you both. The two of you were my Master and my Golden Lover. I’d never had anything like it.”

  “It didn’t bother you that we were fucking you for money? After what had happened to you in the past?”

  “But it wasn’t like that…. Yes, you’d paid, but you never treated me like I was someone you’d paid. And you helped me. You gave me ways of helping myself, And then, later, after I knew I’d fallen in love, somehow…. there was never the chance, the right moment.... Michael…?”

  “Mmm?”

  “Did you pay? Was it both of you?”

  “No. James made the purchase. But I joined in. I’m not feeling proud of myself.”

  He looks pensive, drawing invisible doodles on the table surface with his finger.

  “Char
lotte, have you never had someone to talk to? To confide in?”

  “When I was at the farm, there was a teacher at the school, Mr Kalkowski. He was wonderful. He taught me so much…. He let me use the school library, then he gave me the run of his own library. He let me use his telescope, showed me how to use it, taught me the constellations. And when I wanted to know more about it, he said he could only teach me so much, that I needed to go to college for more….”

  Michael is listening intently, with a silence that swallows my words.

  “…. He told me about his past life. He wasn’t young. I think he was supposed to have retired years ago, but they didn’t have anyone to replace him, out that far from the City. But.… he told me how he’d escaped his old country when things got bad, and made a new life for himself. And I realised that, if he’d done it, so could I. He showed me that education is freedom, and if I wanted to make my own way in the world, I needed to learn as much as I could.”

  “He sounds a good man.”

  “Yes, he was….” My voice breaks up…. “At Christmas, I went back there to see him again, to tell him that I’d made it to University. I wanted…. I wanted him to be proud of me.… but he was so old…. when I got there, they told me he’d died.”

  My eyes flood.

  “Oh, Charlotte.” Michael shakes his head. “Oh God, I’m so sorry.” He hugs me, kissing the top of my head. “Jeez… what are going to do?”

  _________________________________

  I wake to the smell of coffee. My Master is there, sitting on the end of the bed with Michael, talking quietly with him. I don’t move, trying to pick out the words, but their voices are a low murmur, and I can’t hear what they are saying.

  I stir, and they both turn to look at me, Michael smiling at me, my Master somber.

  “Good morning, Charlotte. How are you now?” says my Master.

  My stomach churning, “What’s happening?”

  He chews his lip for a moment. “I’m not going to tell you exactly, until we have some final information come in, but I will say, that Haswell has worked tirelessly on your behalf, over the last day or so and…. it’s going to be alright for you.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes, really.” The words sound as though he should be pleased, but his expression, his body language, says otherwise.

  Michael: “Coffee?”

  “Mmm, yes, please.”

  “Breakfast?”

  “Um, no. Don’t think I could hold it down.”

  My Master again, “Take your time. Have your coffee, take a bath, whatever. Then come down to the study. I’ll be in there.”

  I’m baffled. “How…”

  “Charlotte, please trust me. Just this once. We’re waiting for some documents to come in, for final confirmation, then we’ll tell you.” He snorts a laugh, but there is no humour in it. “You chose the right place to finally make your confession. Haswell is the kind of man who can pull a lot of strings, very quickly, when he wants to.”

  “We’re going to his office?”

  “No, he’s here, downstairs.”

  ____________________________

  Bathed and dressed, I go down to Richard’s study, Michael holding my hand. It smells a little musty in here. Of course, the room has not been used all Summer.

  As we enter, my Master, seated in an armchair, stares out of the window.

  Richard is speaking on the phone, but seeing me, he smiles and points to a chair. Amazingly, he winks at me.

  ?

  “Yes, that’s just what I need.” he is saying. “Yes, yes, that too. Can you scan them and send them straight across to me… Oh, you have? Hang on a minute.”

  He taps at his keyboard. “Yes, it’s coming in now.” He peers at the screen. “Yes, that’s just what I need. If you find anything else, please send it across, but this will do for now. Thanks, Will. I owe you one.” And he hangs up.

  “Sit down, Charlotte.”

  I don’t. On tenterhooks, I dance from one foot to the other, unable to settle. Irritably, he waves me again to the chair, by his desk, “Please, sit down, before you fall down.”

  Glancing across at me, he jabs keys on his laptop, then spins it, so I can see the screen. There is an old photo, the image of a face; a face I recognise. Even across the years, and knowing he is dead, my stomach churns.

  “That him?”

  I nod.

  He taps at more keys and a printer whirrs into life, spitting out documents at high speed. He catches them as they emerge.

  “You might be interested to know that you made the papers at the time. Even if no-one told you about it, you were briefly famous. It probably saved your life. The publicity meant that they couldn’t simply…. lose you. You were fostered out instead, well away from the City.”

  He pushes papers at me. “You didn’t kill him….

  I stutter. “But…. I stabbed him. They told me he was dead…”

  “He died, yes, but not of a stab wound. He was chasing you, and it sounds as though you gave him a good run for his money. He followed you half way across town, over the old river bridge, and died nearly two miles away. He chased you through the traffic and went under the wheels of a truck, a twenty-wheeler. It dragged him some distance before the driver managed to stop the vehicle.”

  I stare at the papers being pushed at me; old headlines. “By the time they’d pulled out what was left of him, a stab wound inflicted by a fourteen-year-old girl would have been the least of his injuries. Certainly, it didn’t show up in the autopsy report.”

  I digest that. He continues, “Witnesses at the time reported him, apparently giving chase to a young girl, a redhead. There was a search for you.” He holds up another sheet. I stare out at myself from a much younger face, ginger, freckled and gawky.

  He looks at the photo. “I have to say, Charlotte, that you have bloomed since then...” Then he looks at me over his glasses, critically, “Although you need to eat. You’ve lost weight in the last couple of days…. What happened to the knife?”

  “I threw it over the bridge into the river.”

  “Mmm.... Anyone’s guess then, where it is now. We’ve dredged that section since then. Could even be part of the pilings for the new bridge.

  He picks more papers out of the flurry still issuing from the printer, again pushing them towards me.

  “This report, which, by the way, you have not seen, is from the police files. Although Jenkins died at the time, when the story broke about the home, some months later, it was found that he had been one of the leaders of a group trafficking in youngsters for purposes of prostitution….”

  He pauses. “Do you want to see anymore?”

  “Um, no, not right now. Don’t think I could handle it just yet. Later perhaps.”

  “I’ll have all the information I have sent to you, and James of course.” He glances over at my Master, who is browsing his way through the assorted papers, reading, his expression impassive.

  Realisation washes over me. My breath shuddering with relief, “Oh, God. It’s over. It’s over.”

  “Yes, it’s over. The police may want to interview you, but they are not interested in giving you a hard time. It’s perfectly clear that you were a victim, not a perpetrator.”

  Shaking, my breath is short. My head won’t take it in. Michael tries to hold me, but I twist free. “Mr Haswell, how can I ever thank you enough?”

  Jabbing a finger towards my Master. “You can make sure I get my money’s worth out of him, for a start.” But he is smiling, and my Master nods a brief smile in return.

  Then he turns back to me. “Take a few days off. Get yourself together again. Then I want you back in my office, Monday morning, ten am. Yes?”

  I nod. “I’m sorry, but I don’t have enough words to thank you.” I walk around his desk and bending, kiss him on the cheek.

  He looks at me sideways. “You’re welcome, Charlotte. I can assume this is the last of your secrets?”

  Despite myself,
I laugh. “Yes, oh yes. You’ve got it all now.”

  “Good. Now relax and do…. whatever it is you do, with these two for a couple of days.”

  ___________________________________

  Haswell departs, leaving me with Michael and my Master.

  Michael hugs me, kissing me firmly on the mouth. My Master lays a hand on my shoulder, kissing me on the forehead, but there is no joy in his eyes. After a few minutes, he leaves me with Michael. Michael’s eyes are disturbed.

  ___________________________________

  Although I know now that most of my problems have been dealt with, my Master is silent for hours at a time. Michael tries to chivvy up some conversation, but is stone-walled, my Master answering in monosyllables, if at all.

  “Master?”

  “What is it, Charlotte?” There is no welcome in his voice.

  “I’m sorry. What can I do to make it right?”

  He grabs me by a wrist, spinning me back against the wall, his expression fierce. I land against the wall with a bump, the breath knocked out of me. He looms over me, voice angry.

  “Charlotte, is that everything now? Michael and I have been building our lives around you. If there is anything else….”

  “No Master, there isn’t. You’ve got it all now. Anything else is just…. detail.”

  “He stares down at me, his dark eyes, black pits. “You’re sure?”

  “I’m sure. I promise. There’s nothing else…. Master?”

  “Yes, what?”

  “I know I’ve made life difficult for you. It was never deliberate, not what I wanted.”

  “Difficult?” He raises his brows. “Difficult? Is that the right word, do you think? I recommended you to Haswell. Difficult is not an adequate description of what I’ve had from him the last couple of days….”

  I hang my head. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean….”

  “Sorry isn’t good enough, Charlotte. You should have told me. You had plenty of opportunity. What did you think I would do? Hand you over to the police?”

  “No.” My voice is a whisper.

  “Then why? Why did you not tell me?”

  “I wanted to. Really, I did. But … I couldn’t say it…”