Buying the Virgin novel Chapter 64

Michael returns his attention to my melting pussy.

“You were occupied. Don’t stop for me.” says my Master. “I’m happy to watch the show.” There is the clink of ice, and the glug of a drink being poured.

Michael raises his head again. “Why don’t you use some of that ice at the top end. I’m busy down here.”

“Now there’s an idea.” My Master, elegant, still wearing his business suit, sits alongside me on my beach towel. Dipping his fingers in the iced water, he holds them there for a few seconds, then coming close to me, holding my eyes, outlines my parted lips with chilled fingertips. He doesn’t smile, but he has that smile behind his eyes, where I can’t see it; but I know it’s there. His eyes, dark and intense, follow the line of his fingers as he trails a chilled line down my chin, my neck, to the hollow of my throat, and down to my heaving chest.

Panting violently now, my control is slipping. My Master dips his fingers into the ice again, then starts rolling a nipple between them. “Tell me,” he murmurs to me, “would you prefer to cum by Michael licking you out, or by fucking you with his cock?”

My hips buck, my pussy clenches, and climax takes me.

Michael makes a grab for my hips, anchoring himself to me as he plunges his tongue inside me. Wailing, I thrash out, instinctively trying to hold on to something, which turns out to be my Master’s jacket.

He tightens his grip on my nipple, pinching and nipping it, sending jolts of pain-pleasure skipping down to my already pulsating cunt.

He chuckles as I jerk and quiver, trying to snatch breath from the air, as my body vibrates in orgasm.

As my climax abates, Michael sits up, wiping his mouth. “Before you do that on another occasion,” he says, dryly, to my Master, “give a man some warning, eh?”

My Master sits back, enjoying his joke, sipping his drink. “Well, as the bearer of good news, I thought that you might both enjoy a small celebration.”

Recovering my voice as my breathing slows to normality, “What news is that, Master?”

“You have an interview,” he says, “with Richard Haswell.”

I sit bolt upright.

“With Richard Haswell? I’d assumed it would be with someone in the personnel department?”

“Normally yes, but you have an interview with the man himself. If you impress him, you’ll have the very best of training for whatever you decide to do, and the academic side of things will be completely funded.”

My Master tosses me some brochures. “This is what the company is putting out by way of publicity right now. You might want to familiarise yourself with it. You’re seeing him two pm tomorrow. Anyway, I’ve got you the interview. The rest is up to you.”

I read the brochures, cover to cover, and then again. I’m excited. Very excited. At last, a chance to do what I want to do without having to raise money by….

Without having to.

*****

The following day, tidily dressed in a crisply pressed white blouse, knee length black shirt and inch heeled court shoes, I alternate between excitement and nerves. My Master drives me to the office. “Good luck,” he says, giving me a peck on the cheek, and squeezing my hand.

Checking in the bathroom that my long hair, rebellious at the best of times, has not escaped the multitude of pins keeping it firmly under control, I present myself at reception.

“I have an appointment with Mr Haswell. I’m….”

I stall….

What am I called?

“Ah yes, Charlotte Conners isn’t it? Mr Haswell said to send you right in.” The receptionist waves me towards the door.

I tap.

“Come in.”

Richard Haswell is sitting on a low seat overlooking a vast cityscape. Wall to wall windows give a bird’s eye view of most of the City, drawing the eye over the river and beyond, to where I know his city renovation project is ongoing.

He stands, smiling, holding out his hand to shake. “Good afternoon, Charlotte. Nice to meet you properly at last. Do take a seat.”