Buying the Virgin novel Chapter 4

My Master knows what I want. I do want to touch him. Never have I been so close to a male body. My fingers barely grazing his skin, I follow the line of his shoulders, his chest, the small nubs of his nipples with their aura of hairs, the tight outline of his abs and taut, flat stomach. I know how Columbus must have felt, exploring new worlds.

I kiss his chest, lightly, wanting to press my face into him, to take in his wonderful scent, but nerves take me again and I back off, embarrassed.

“Charlotte, it’s fine. If you want to do it, then do it.” His hand slips to the back of my head, not pressing, but guiding me in.

Encouraged, I kiss again, tracing the line of his chest. My lips brush past a nipple and I take it into my mouth, tasting, for the first time, the salty flavour of him, savouring the crinkled texture of the nipple.

Abruptly, he gasps, drawing a deep breath. “Fuck Charlotte! I hoped this was going to be good, but…”

He grabs me by the shoulders, pulling me upright, in the first ungentle move he has made. “Ye gods girl! Do you have any idea what you’re doing to me?”

Abashed, I reply, “I’m sorry Master. I didn’t mean…”

He laughs and grabs my chin with one hand. “That’s not what I meant. You definitely do not need to apologise. I’m just realising that I’m lighting fires that may take some quenching.”

Then he turns serious. “Your turn now.” And he drops to his knees, looking up at me. “Support yourself on me. Your hands on my head or shoulders, whatever you need.”

I don’t understand him at first, but then, as his mouth closes over me, through my panties, I get it. As his warm breath bathes my thighs, and his tongue laps at me through the fabric, fire ignites between my thighs and I cry out. My knees giving under me, my hands scrabble for something to hang on to.

“Gently Girl,” he says as I grab at his hair, trying to stabilize myself against him. “Open your legs a little. Let me at you.”

I move my feet apart a bit, making a small gap between my thighs, watching as my Master slips in a hand and starts to stroke me through the panties. Entirely unsure as to what exactly he is stroking, nonetheless, I shudder and moan as my panties are abruptly wetter, flinging my head back, eyes screwed shut.

“Master. I’m sorry, but I can’t stand up properly.”

Abruptly, he rises, scooping me up. “Time to get you horizontal, I think,” he says. And he drops me on the bed, almost dumping me there.

I lie in a tumble of hair and sweat, panting uncontrollably, my Master towering above me, looking down, his expression calculating.

“Are you still nervous Charlotte? Still scared?”

No, I am not scared, not nervous, not even slightly. I am afire. I want more… But I have no words and shake my head dumbly.

Still, he gazes at me, assessing, for a long moment, then starts unbelting.

As his jeans fall to the floor, I see him, my first man, for the first time, naked. I have seen pictures of course, in the magazines, on the internet, but have never appreciated before, how wonderful an aroused man with an erection can look. The pictures and images I have seen before seemed tawdry and cheap. When I sold myself, I believed that I was sacrificing myself for money, prostituting myself. But…

He is magnificent.

His dark hair, an amber halo in the flickering candle-light; I could lose myself in the deep pool of his eyes. His taut muscles outlined and gleaming in a sheen of perspiration. His erection, his penis, upright, proud against his flat stomach.

I want him. But I don’t know…

I reach out to him, arms outstretched. Somehow, my hands are drawn to his cock.

His sees it but shakes his head. “Not yet. Not for your first time. I want you ready for me.”