Buying the Virgin

Chapter 96: The Girl Who Was Hunted - Chapter Twelve

MICHAEL

Charlotte writhes, stretching and smiling, her green-grey eyes intense. “I think I’ll leave that to the

masseur.”

Relaxing back, she lies framed by her sea of red hair, her skin very pale even against the white towel,

spine arched, knees slightly akimbo. She gazes at me, lips slightly parted.

Jeez….

My cock twitches, balls pulling upwards.

I want to fuck your face, Babe…. Get my cock into that beautiful mouth…. Spill over your tongue and

watch you lap it up.…

Locking with her eyes all the while, I oil my hands, rubbing my palms well to warm up.

I start at her feet, manipulating the toes, gliding through to her ankles before working her calves with

the heel of my hand.

Her breathing is slow and deep….

Do I do the whole thing….?

…. let’s see what she wants…

Moving upwards to her thighs, I work the muscles deeply as she begins to tremble, a shuddering that

rises from her pelvis, transmitting through her flesh to my fingers….

And I can almost see her growing wetter….

Should I take the towel away….?

…No, not yet…. make her wait….

I skip to the far reach of her body.

Still sitting with one hip balanced by her on the bench, pressing the pads of my fingers against either

side of her temples, I circle the skin behind her ears. Skimming behind to the base of her skull, I lift her

slightly at the neck, and she arches into my massage/caress. Sliding up into her hair, I work her scalp,

all the time her breathing deepening, and now, quickening….

I’ll make you gasp soon, Baby…

Her eyelids begin to flutter. “Don’t relax too much,” I say.

She opens her eyes again, slightly showing her teeth in a semi-smile…

Time to fire up….

“Look at me…”

Her head resting back, her eyes widen to meet with mine again.

I move down to her shoulders, kneading through to her muscles with fingers and thumb, bending to

nibble at the delicate skin of her neck. Her breath hitches and she turns, reaching up to kiss the side of

my face, her hand sliding into my hair to pull me to her. Open-mouthed, I kiss her, and she moans

softly, her fingernails digging into my scalp.

Jeez, but these pants are getting tight.…

Fuck the massage….

I drop to her breasts, skimming the skin with the palms of my hands, mouthing at a nipple. I suckle

gently, and it puckers and tightens between my lips, hardening when I nibble. She whimpers softly,

beginning to pant, both hands tightening around my neck and shoulders.

I slide away the towel, leaving her naked for me, thighs parted in invite, her skin gleaming from the oil. I

glide a palm down across her stomach, over the vee of her thighs. She is already warm and damp,

curls glistening, labia swelling with her arousal….

If I can arouse you, Babe, you’re not feeling too bad….

Pushing my fingers in further, she is slick and warm. Testing her pussy, she quivers under my hand as I

briefly finger-fuck her.

I stand back, shucking off my jogging bottoms and tee-shirt. I don’t want to do anything complicated;

just get inside her, fuck her, remind her that she’s loved.

The bench is narrow for two of us, and I’m careful as I settle atop her. Her thighs part wide for me,

inviting me in, then wrap around me. Her arms swing around my shoulders, pulling me close.

I slide my arms under her, lifting her a little, pulling her into my embrace. As I ease my cock inside her,

she moans gently.

“Shhh….” I murmur. “We can’t be too noisy here.”

She nods, smiling dreamily.

You just want me inside you, Babe, don’t you?

She feels tight and slick and warm as I move slowly within her, not yet thrusting, but working up her

arousal. She sighs and trembles, rocking gently with me, matching my tempo as I begin to move more

powerfully.

Will you come, Babe? In this state of mind?

I don’t think so….

No pressure then….

I don’t think she even wants to climax. She simply needs the closeness. All the while I work her body,

fuck her with my cock, her eyes are open, gazing into mine.

She reaches to kiss me. “My Golden Lover.” she murmurs. Belongs to (N)ôvel/Drama.Org.

Where did you get that from, Babe? No-one ever called me that before you….

I come suddenly, unexpectedly. The pressure straining at the base of my cock, balls abruptly tight, I

spurt into her, once, twice, her tightness around my shaft increasing as she contracts around me, I

think deliberately, as she feels me come.

Vaguely conscious that her fingers are twisting into my hair, I pump a final shot, before collapsing onto

her.

Realising that I’m crushing her, I pull my weight away. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to come so soon. Are you

alright, Charlotte?”

Again, she doesn’t speak, simply kissing my face.

Yeah…. she’s fine now.

“Let’s go find James.”

*****

CHARLOTTE

I look through endless photos, some in old books, some on databases. I flick pages, click websites;

weary of seeing blue eyes, brown eyes, scars, black hair, long beards, goatee beards, clean-shaven,

bald, sharp-eyed, dull; hundreds of them. On the laptop, I set the gallery of strangers to ’Slideshow’ and

let it simply play, one face after another, flicking past every few seconds.

Michael comes in, bearing a tray of mugs. “Coffee?”

“Oh, lovely. Yes, thanks.”

He peers over my shoulder. “Nothing?”

“Nope. I’m not even sure now, I would recognise someone I knew. It was so long ago. I was just a kid,

and…. and I think I’m going blind looking at this lot.”

“Is it just random strangers they’re showing you?”

“I don’t think so. I think they’re suspects in people trafficking cases, but there’s so many of them.”

Something familiar flashes by my peripheral vision, and my head pivots back to the screen. “Whoa….”

I stab at the keyboard, reversing the slideshow. What did I see?

The previous face is still a stranger. I don’t know it. I click back again.

And the familiar stares out at me, from years past; older than I remember, but still the same face. The

forehead is higher, hair greyer, but the same cold, deadpan eyes stare blankly out; no emotion there,

the gaze of a monster.

There are monsters in the world, and most of them look like real people.

“You know him?” asks Michael, his voice flat, careful.

Feeling sick. “I did. A long time ago.”

“At Blessingmoors?”

I nod. “He wasn’t one of the regular staff. He came by occasionally, and he’d leave taking the older

ones with him. We would never see them again.”

*****

Stanton says “We know who and where he is, but we’ve never managed to pin anything on him. If we

pulled him in, do you think you could pick him out of a line-up?”

“I think so, yes.”

*****

“It’s mirrored glass. They can’t see you.”

I stare through at nine men; similar heights, comparable faces, easy to confuse. But I have no doubts.

“That’s him.” I point.

“You sure of that? You don’t want to think about it?”

“No, I’m sure. That’s him.”

*****

“You were quite correct, Charlotte, and quite sure of yourself. We would like to show you some more

photos now, of people known to be associated with this man. Are you comfortable with that?”

“That’s fine.”

*****

Several hours, and pints of coffee later, I have five more faces for them. Stanton seems…. delighted is

the wrong word, given the context, but certainly very pleased.

“Charlotte. I can’t thank you enough. With your evidence, we have enough to put a case together and

take this to court. Our only problem is that we know the locations of two of them, but not of the others,

so we can’t simply bring them all in.”