Buying The Virgin Part 1-3 novel Chapter 43

My Master finally breaks through the crowd. “Charlotte! Are you alright? Are you hurt?”

“Um, yes Master. I’m fine. No, I’m not hurt… I …er…”

I run out of words and turn in appeal to Michael.

“Steve and Marcie didn’t want to take ‘No’ for an answer. Charlotte explained the rules of consent to them.” Michael’s tone is bland, but his eyes are bubbling with laughter.

Now it is clear that I am unharmed, my Master is also clearly struggling not to laugh. Each holding an arm courteously for me, he, with Michael, accompanies me to their chosen room.

“Where did you learn to punch like that?” he hisses out of the side of his mouth. “I saw him go down. You have a fantastic right-cross.”

“Girl’s regional boxing champion in my year at high school,” I explain. I am worried. “Have I gotten us into trouble, Master?”

He chuckles. “I really, really, don’t think so. What’s he going to say? That a female sub, six inches shorter than him, laid him out on the floor with a single blow?”

“A girl’s got to be able to look after herself, Master.”

He shakes his head. “You still manage to surprise me Charlotte. If I’d known you could do that, I might have trodden more carefully, the night I took your virginity.”

Michael is beaming.

“What’s Michael looking so pleased about?” I mutter.

“You seriously don’t know?”

“No, Master, I don’t. I thought you were both going to be mad at me.”

“You were jealous, Charlotte.” I saw your face, and so did he. Marcie wouldn’t leave him alone, and you were jealous over Michael. You just proved to him that you feel strongly enough about it, to fight for him.”

“Looks like we’re all learning things about ourselves these last couple of days doesn’t it Master?”

*****

The two of them lead me to the same room we used on the previous occasion we were here. Laid out as a Medieval dungeon, the walls are racked with flails and whips. There is a padded bench with restraints at either end, a very large bed, and a sort of diagonal cross, again with cuffs for wrists and ankle.

A man is waiting there, handsome in a severe sort of way. He is tall and fair-haired, with cold, blue eyes. He stands, leaning back against the padded bench.

“Ah, James, Michael, there you are. And this must be Charlotte.”

My Master turns to me. “Charlotte, this is Kris. He is going to be entertaining you for a while now.”

I falter. “Master?”

He returns my gaze, levelly, unsmiling. “Intense? Yes?”

I drop my head. “Yes, Master.”

Michael gives my hand a squeeze, then, his hand on my back, propels me gently forward towards Kris.

I stand before him, uncertain as to what is expected of me. Kris circles me, looking me over, almost stalking. “I was not here last time you visited us Charlotte. You made rather a good impression, I gather, on that occasion. You have made even more of an impression tonight.”

He reaches over to one of the racks of ‘tools’, making a show of choosing, before picking out a riding crop. Nearly three feet long, supple and intimidating, it is leather-bound, with a small black tongue on the end.

Swallowing hard, I begin to wonder what I have let myself in for.

But my pussy is purring….

How can I get off on this...??? How?

Kris, still standing back, looking, strokes me with the tip of the crop, tracing the outline of my body through the dress.

“Nice outfit, Charlotte. A gift from your Masters, I imagine. They always did have good taste.”

“Yes, Kris. A gift from my Masters.”

Sharply, he tilts my chin up with the tip of the crop. “You will address me as ‘Sir’, and only if I invite you to speak.”

If he invites me?

Nervously, I glance at my Master, at Michael. My Master is expressionless. Michael lowers his eyelids in the smallest of reassuring gestures. But both are watching me closely.

Intense? Yes. And I asked for this.

The crop taps at the back of my neck, at the fastenings on the halter of my dress. Kris addresses my Master.

“Take it off her.”

My Master steps up close behind me, undoing the two tiny buttons which are all that hold the dress in place. He says quietly, “If you don’t want to really feel it from him, be sure to do as you are told. Kris is not so… restrained, as I am.”

Restrained?

The sparkling dress slides down, puddling at my feet, leaving me dressed only in black lace panties and high heeled shoes. Kris bends to pick up the dress, laying it carefully to one side, then continues his circling, caressing my now naked skin with the crop. He traces the soft leather tongue of the crop, with the lightest of touches, over my cheeks and lips, the curve of my waist, my loins, my breasts.