Virgins for sale

chapter 3

The website promised the complete subservience of your bought girl, within reason. A pliable doll of flesh and lips and breasts and a warm wet untouched cunt with a hefty price tag. It sounded too good to be true. But if it wasn't half the pleasure for me would be shutting them down. I have the money to do it—the power—so why not take the risk. No one ever fucks over Gavin Errico.

I contacted the website and paid their required fee to see my list of matches. What they sent back was the first sign that the website might actually be legit. The girls were not supermodels. The pictures of them weren't taken in a studio. Some of the images were blurry.

I'm nothing if not a picky son of a bitch. Perhaps that's another reason why I've remained single for so long. I don't exactly have a type, but I know what I like when I see it. And none of those girls stood out to me. They were all the same, horny little virgins ready to drop to their knees for their new master. Several of them were touching themselves, making a seductive O face. One even had pigtails, which I was sure was supposed to appeal to the 'daddy' types. It just made me roll my eyes.

Within a few weeks of the website sending me matches, I find myself jaded. This was a complete waste of time and a hefty deposit. I decide to open one last email from VirginsforSale.com before I contact their support and ask for a refund. I might want a dutiful wife, but I also want someone real. These girls all feel too generic, out of the box beauties who are likely just trying to make some easy money for college.

Buried deep within the legal jargon of the website, I found the part that said the girls are allowed to fuck and run, take half of the money and disappear. None of it is really legal. But reading it made me even more skeptical and extra cautious, because I'm sure that same jargon they try to hide from their male customers to get them to hand over their money was provided front and center to the girls to encourage more sign-ups. I doubt that most of those girls are looking for more than a few nights in a stranger's bed and a purse full of cash. That alone should have made me ask for a refund.

I sigh as I click on the link to open the email, expecting to see the typical busty blonde or lithe brunette making a seductive face at the camera, her perky tits on full display for my jerking pleasure. They all have that 'come fuck me' look I've become annoyed with. It still doesn't stop me from fantasizing about bending them over a desk and fucking them raw, their tight little pussies squeezing around me as I enter them for the first time. I wonder if they'd be able to hold that lustful expression or if they'd wince in pain. It's usually the latter of the two.

But the girl displayed before me this time makes me jut my head back in confusion. I'm so used to seeing painted faces and pouting lips that these images seem out of place.

This girl is absolutely stunning in a different kind of way. Effortless beauty, her hair is short but a bit wild. The large round-framed glasses she's wearing and lack of makeup give her an innocent look without even trying. Instead of her body being on full confident display in her nudes, she's rigid. Discomfort tugs at her expression, something between apprehension and skepticism, like she's wondering if she's doing the right thing—wondering who will see these pictures after she sends them. There's thought behind her eyes, human emotion. I find myself wanting to know who she is and why she's doing this. I also find my cock rock hard just looking at her, something that has required at least a few casual strokes with all the other girls.

And I know in that instant, that this is the one. This is the girl I must have. Even if she doesn't accept my contract, I'll find her. I'll seek her out and uncover her mystery. And then I'll spread her legs and claim what is mine. She is mine, whether she knows it or not.

I send the email to VirginsforSale.com telling them I want her and then wait impatiently for their response. After fifteen minutes, I call their support. Thankfully, no one else has tried to claim her yet. I demand that the contract is sent to her immediately. About an hour later, they call me back and tell me she accepted. Part of me can't fucking believe it. Is this actually going to happen? Is she really mine?

They mail me the stupid cheap cell phone that I'm to use to get in contact with her. It has a tracking app so that I'll know where she is at all times. I like that, being able to keep tabs on her. And now that we're locked into a contract together, there's no point in rushing things. It's time for the game of anticipation that I enjoy so much.

I tell her to get a job somewhere in the public eye, not because I give a fuck about her working, but because I want to be able to watch her from afar. She bombards me with questions I have no intentions of answering. I want to be more of a mystery to her than she is to me. Instead of giving her answers, I give her money, small deposits into her account to show her that this is real. To that end, she decides to obey me. The second sign this might not be a scam. This better not be a fucking scam, or I'm going to be livid.

I sit outside of her job in one of my lesser conspicuous vehicles and watch her walk through the doors. The app on my phone tracks her every movement.

Seeing her in person makes a tightness pull at my chest. When I read that she was only 5'2, I smirked at the thought of towering over her. Now, seeing how tiny she is, how easy she would be to dominate, my cock is straining in my slacks. I undress her with my eyes, thinking of all the horribly filthy things I'd like to do to her—that I'm going to do to her. In none of her pictures did she wear an expression of pleasure, but I'll see it on her face eventually. I'll fist my hand into her hair and pull her head back while I'm ramming into her.

"Fuck." I drag my tongue across my bottom lip, wringing my hands around the steering wheel as she disappears inside the restaurant. I'm getting way too worked up, and I haven't even heard her voice yet. The one time she called me, I rejected it. I want every part of her in small bits and pieces, like chipping away at the dirt to reach the rare diamond inside.

How long will I be able to handle this before I must claim her?

The answer is...not very fucking long.

I spend nearly a week watching her walk inside that building in shorts that are way too fucking short. The curves of her hips and ass torture me. I'm convinced that the shorts are two sizes too small for her. They're so tight that I swear I can see the material contouring to her folds. All I can think about is ripping those damnable shorts off of her, parting her thighs, and tasting her honey, then burying myself to the hilt inside of her.

When I get home from work at the end of the day, it's not the porn sites I turn to anymore. I find myself stroking off to the pictures of her that I've looked at so many times that I'm certain I've memorized every inch of her pure naked flesh. My fingers itch to touch her. My cock throbs to bust through her virgin barrier. I want to know what she smells like, to feel how soft her ashen brown hair is. I want to take off her glasses and gaze into her eyes as her mouth contorts into an O that's only for me.

I see her in my dreams, imagine what her voice sounds like. The longer I watch her, the more insane I go with lust. Until I can't take it anymore. Until I have to have her.

Barely a week goes by before I find myself sitting outside of her job waiting for her to get off from work. I'm done playing coy. My lesser pretentious toys are parked in the garage. Tonight, I had my driver bring me.

No doubt, this place has never seen a limo in its parking lot. The restaurant has been closed for about thirty minutes already, and I can see the employees staring at the limo through the glass, my innocent little kitten included. She has no idea that it's me inside. I didn't text her to let her know I was coming.

When she finally leaves the building, gazing upon the limo with a mixed look of curiosity and unease, I have my driver flag her over. She glances behind herself to make sure he's not talking to someone else, then points at her chest for good measure. I grin at her naivety, wiping the smirk off my face while she approaches the vehicle.

She stops dead in her tracks as I open the door, her hand flying up to cover her heart as if she didn't expect someone to be inside. My eyes rove from the top of her head to the tips of her toes before settling on her face. Her adorable little mouth is open in surprise. No doubt, she recognizes who I am now."Get in," I tell her.