Buying The Virgin Part 1-3 novel Chapter 20

Michael’s breathing is slow and steady but deepening and his fingers twist into my hair, his grip tightening on me.

Abruptly, he pulls away. “It’s wonderful,” he says, bending to kiss the top of my head. “But I don’t want to blow off in five minutes. We have all evening.”

Un-noticed, my Master has slipped in from the kitchen and is stretched out by us, sprawled in an armchair by the fire, long legs stretched out, crossed at the ankles. A wine glass in his hand, he watches us, smiling; the flicker of the flames through the deep red wine casting amber and ruby shadows over the walls.

Lying down, I stretch like a cat on the fur rug, the light of the flames dancing over my skin, Michael joins me on the fur, stroking my back. His expert fingers ripple up my muscles, probing, investigating.

“You’ve been spending too much time on a computer,” he says. “Your shoulder muscles are knotted. Lie on your front. Let me work them out for you.”

I turn over and Michael straddles me. “I’ll do this properly later, but I need you on a bed for that. For now, I’ll just work on those muscle kinks.”

He is right. As his fingers dig into the knots, kneading them out, I grimace and wince. “Serves you right,” he says. “If you have poor posture or a bad position at your desk, this is the result. Have you got a proper office chair and desk? Your computer at the correct height?”

“I’ve been making do a bit,” I admit. “I wanted the money to stretch out.”

Michael is silent, and I see my Master pursing his lips.

Michael rises, disengaging from me, and slapping me on the rump, then he flips me over onto my back. His strength always surprises me. He’s not particularly tall but is stocky and powerfully built, broad-shouldered and muscular. He turns me over with no obvious effort, sending a rush of arousal through me.

Looking up from my bed of fur, Michael is kneeling to one side of me, my Master behind him, still lounging in his chair. Both are watching me and I feel I should give them something to watch.

Holding the gaze of first one, then the other, I stroke my breasts, cupping and caressing, massaging the smooth pale skin. Tracing the curves with my fingers, I outline my soft white mounds, circling my nipples, now beginning to stand proud, hard little buds, rosy in the amber light.

Arching my back, I semi-part my knees, inviting Michael in. His head tilts, eyes on me as smiling, he unbuttons his shirt and cuffs. Fascinated, I watch the play of the candles on the contours of his muscles, gleaming with a fine sheen of perspiration.

Still standing above me, looking down, he unbelts his jeans, releasing his cock from where it is straining for freedom.

Kneeling down, he parts my knees further, settling between them, then his strong hands ripple over my stomach and breasts. Leaning, he kisses my belly and breasts, taking the nipples lightly between his teeth, nibbling gently and swiping around with his tongue.

It sends a rush of heat through me, and moisture breaks from my pussy. Raising my hips, arms outstretched, reaching for my Golden Angel, I beckon him in, wanting him inside me, wanting him to fill me.

Glancing sideways, I see my Master, still watching, his expression solemn, but with the trace of a smile at the corners of his eyes, his dark hair picking up auburn highlights in the golden light. He takes a sip from the glass, and unmoving, continues to watch.

Michael covers me, enfolding me with arms and body, his cock nudging against my swelling pussy lips, but not entering me. Instead, he teases my warming folds, rubbing against my engorging clit, arousing me further.

My breathing is becoming more rapid. The scent of Michael’s warm skin and of my own growing arousal mingle into a honeyed perfume of lust and love and erotic togetherness.

I begin to pant, my hips to quiver. “Please,” I say. “Please. I want you inside me.”

Grinding his hips in a circular motion against me, he massages my g-spot and inner walls, sending waves of hot moisture trickling down the soft skin of my thighs. His head rests against the side of my own and his breathing whispers against me, growing heavier and more irregular. He is always a quiet man, but his small groans shudder through me as his climax takes hold. His cock grows ever larger inside me until, with a gasp, his control evaporates and he plunges hard inside me, thrusting deep, stopped only by my inner walls. Again and again, he pounds into me. It hurts, but it is a good hurting and I want more as my own orgasm arises with his.

My moans are muffled by the mouthful of my Master’s shaft, itself now flowing freely, liquid cream streaming salty-sweet across my tongue, dribbling down my lips.

With a cry and a final judder, Michael cums into me, squeezing me tight, pushing hard inside. His hips crush against me, his balls swinging against me as he pumps into me.

Regardless of his climax, he continues to rub and massage my clit. I teeter on the brink of my own orgasm, tingling, aflame with the need to cum. It hits me full force, cascading through me in waves as I convulse and moan. I am still in the midst of climax as Michael withdraws from me, spins me on my knees and presents my still pulsating pussy to my Master.

He drops behind me, ramming inside me hard, pounding me internally as my cunt clenches, and re-clenches around his thick hard shaft. As my climax fades and I sag, gasping onto my elbows, my Master grunts and gasps, pressing into me, holding my hips so tightly it hurts. Hot cum and my own juices run down my thighs until with a final breathy heave, my Master flops down atop me, sated.

After a few moments, he remembers himself and, stroking my arm, murmurs, “Thank you Charlotte.” before slipping out of me and collapsing onto the fur beside me.

We lie together for a while, not speaking, but just enjoying being together. In the glow of the fire, we lie, the three of us, in a tumble of arms and legs, until a savoury smell drifts through.

My Master leaps up. “The casserole!” and he charges, still naked, into the kitchen.

Michael looks after him quizzically, but standing, he collects two more of the bathrobes from the wet room. As my Master dashes back into the lounge, cock swinging, Michael passes him one of the robes. “Some things are better not loose near flames,” he comments.