Buying the Virgin

Chapter 63: The Girl Who Came Back - Chapter Nineteen

Instantly he withdraws, and Michael climbs off me, standing to one side, watching me as orgasm runs

its course through me, and I lie, panting and trembling.

And now I can see my Master, sitting back, watching me. “You look fucking fantastic, you know,” he

says. “I love what that corset does to your tits.”

Then he stands, between my legs, holding out a hand. “Sit up.” Pulling me up and forward, he presses

his cock, pulsing its metronome beat, against the channel of my cleavage. “Give me your hands.”

He places my fingers to either side of my breasts. “Wrap yourself around me, tightly.”

His long cock sandwiched between my breasts, he thrusts, gently, sliding through my cleavage. The

red-purple of his swollen cock-head is a stark contrast to the creamy white of my skin, and as he flows,

pre-cum and my own sweat make the passage slick and slippery. He glides easily in and out.

“Tighter,” he mutters, his breath growing ragged. I press my hands more tightly around, increasing the

pressure for him, moving with his movement so far as I can, looking up into his face as I do so.

“Look down,” he says, through gritted teeth. I drop my gaze, to watch his cock gliding in and out

between my breasts.

With a jerk and a groan, he cums, spurting up over my neck and down-turned face, spilling over my

breasts, hot and liquid. As the last moment, he pulls free and pushes upwards, to where my lips are

parted, waiting for him. His last drops spatter into my mouth as he grips my head, immobilising me, a

hand either side of my face.

With a gasp, he pulls free, moving to stand by Michael. They exchange glances, and Michael slaps him

on the shoulder. My Master returns the shoulder slap, briefly gripping his hand.

As I lie there, still bathed in sweat and cum, and just knowing that my makeup is panda-eyed, my hair a

tumbled mess, both men help me up, to stand between them.

“Thank you, Charlotte.” says my Master. “That was a gift to remember.” His eyes are soft, smiling.

“Yes,” agrees Michael. “It was.” Again, there is the smile to him that I have missed; the joie de vivre,

that is so much a part of my Golden Lover.

“Glad you liked it, Guys, but that was the ceremony, not the gift.” Michael looks at me in surprise. My

Master raises an eyebrow.

“I have something for the both of you now.”

From my bag, I retrieve my gifts; two small, identical boxes, and making sure that I know which is

which, I give one to my Master, and one to Michael.

They have both seen boxes identical to these before, and know, before they open them, what is inside:

for Michael, a braided ring of yellow and white gold; for my Master, one of red and yellow gold.

They each look at them in silence, then at me, and each other.

Michael slips his on, and my Master follows.

They don’t say anything. It feels almost weird. But Michael’s eyes are brimming as he holds me, his

face tucked into my shoulder. My Master peels me away from him, pressing his lips to mine.

Finally, my Master breaks the silence. “You know, I think there is another bottle of champagne in the

fridge.”

“Great idea,” says Michael, and vanishes into the kitchen.

My Master’s eyes slide sideways to mine. “Clever girl, Charlotte. Very well played. Perfect, in fact.”

Michael returns and we top up our glasses.

Michael, unusually for him, speaks up first. “A toast, to my Best Friend, and my Wife-to-Be.”

We clink glasses. My Master speaks. “To my Closest Friend and my Wife de facto.”

How do I follow that?

“To my Both my Husbands.”

*****

Under the shade of a palm tree, hot sun, scalding the sky to a white shimmer, sends reflections

blindingly across the pool. Michael, suckling at my nipple, cupping the breast in one hand, is playing

havoc with my clit with the fingers of the other.

Lying on a couple of beach towels, with just enough breeze to make the hot air bearable, I came out to

lie in the shade. My Golden Lover arrived minutes later with a bottle of oil in his hand and the devil in

his eyes.

“You’ll burn if you lay out like that, skin like yours. Let me oil you over.”

“I’m in the shade.”

He sucks his lips. “Let me put it another way. I would like to oil you over….” His grin is wicked. I can’t

miss his meaning.

“Don’t think we need this, do we?” he says, reaching around me to unfasten my bikini top.

Lying back, I stretch like a cat, arms over my head, displaying myself for him. Sunlight gilding his blond

hair, bleached now almost to white against his deep summer tan, he grins, teeth very white against his

skin. “That’s my girl.”

He stoops, taking a nipple between his teeth, nibbling gently and sending little jolts of electricity

skittering down through me. My breath catching and my hips juddering, he sweeps a hand over my

stomach to slide under my bikini bottom.

“I’m not convinced we need these either,” he says, fingers tugging at the garment. Laughing, I slide

them down, kicking them away.

“That’s more like it. Unrestricted access. Just what I was looking for.” He spots my cold drink, sitting in

a frosty glass next to me.

Scooping out an ice cube, holding it between fingers, he delicately traces the outline of the nipple he

was holding. I judder and gasp as the nipple crinkles tight, rosy and hard against my Celtic ivory skin.

Retrieving the nipple with his teeth, playing the hard bud with his tongue, he works the other nipple with

the ice, chuckling to himself, as I quiver and whimper under his touch.

Then, slowly…. slowly…. he traces a glacial line with the cube over my sun-heated skin, down through

the valley of my breasts, over my navel and stomach, through my fiery red curls, down and in.

I yelp and wriggle, but he pins me. Michael is a strong man, broad-shouldered and fit, and I am no

match for him when he exerts his strength, unable to move except to writhe and quiver in his grip. He

circles my clit with the ice cube, frigid water dribbling between my folds, meeting with hot juices as my

core convulses, gushing. Belongs to (N)ôvel/Drama.Org.

Moaning loudly now, I shake, my hips bucking, as he slips the ice ever further inwards. My pussy

clenches as he winds it around, inside my entrance.

“Ready to play?” he whispers, his erection pressing hard against my thigh.

“Oh God, yes. Get inside me.”

“Patience, Charlotte. All good things come to she who waits…”

He moves, to kneel between my legs, parting my thighs. Casting around for a moment, he picks up a

towel, folds it up small and pushes it under my hips, raising me, arching my spine.

For a minute, he looks down at me, hand flat over the vee of my legs, gauging my reaction as he

thumbs my clit. His smile fades, his expression becoming intense. “I don’t think you know how beautiful

you look like that,” he says. “I know that all you want, right now, is for me to fuck you.”

I don’t reply. It doesn’t seem necessary. Instead, I arch further, parting my thighs as widely as I can.

Staring up into his deeply blue eyes, I whisper, “Please.”

His smile returns, and he dips his head between my thighs, opening his mouth over my wet and

swollen sex. My head flings back and, breath broken as I moan, I stroke his hair while his tongue

sweeps spirals through my entrance, plunging deep inside me,

A shadow falls across me, blocking the sun: my Master. Michael looks up briefly. “Didn’t hear you come

back.”