Buying the Virgin

Chapter 1: The Girl Who Sold Herself - Chapter One

I stand on the podium, looking at the crowd in front of me. I’m scared, trembling as I face them. Exclusive content from NôvelDrama.Org.

I can’t complain. I volunteered for this, and in a few days, I’ll have more money than I’ve ever seen in

my life. But I have to get through the next few days and… I’m scared.

I am looking at a sea of male faces: handsome, ugly, white, black, Hispanic, Asian, tall, short. You

name it, they’re in front of me. The only thing they have in common: they’re all rich. Some of them are

very rich. I suppose that it will be one of the very rich ones who buys me.

“Charlotte, turn around,” instructs the auctioneer. “The clients want to see what they are paying for.”

I swallow hard and turn slowly around and, trying not to look anyone in the eye, drop my gaze to the

floor. My breath is fast and short, my heart pounding.

“Raise your head,” shouts a voice from the floor. “At these prices, I want to see what I’m getting.”

I raise my head, biting my lip and trying to be brave. It’s too late for me to back out now. If I do, they’ll

never give me a second chance and I’ll have lost the opportunity of a lifetime.

All the faces are staring at me. The auctioneer leans over to me and whispers, “If you want to get your

price up, look at them. Smile a bit. You need to look young and shy, but not scared stupid. They want to

know they’re going to have a good time with you.”

I nod and try to follow his advice. Perhaps I could pick out odd individual faces and just exchange a

look with them for a moment. Scanning the array of faces, I settle on a few of the more handsome, or

more friendly-looking, ones. Some of the guys look quite scary and I really hope that none of them will

be the winning bidder.

“Now then gentlemen,” starts the auctioneer. “We all know why we are here. Charlotte here is twenty-

two years old and has been certified by our medical experts to be a virgin. Of course, the winning

bidder will be able to test that out for himself. All bids are final except in the event of Charlotte herself

not complying with the terms of the auction. Which is to say that she will willingly serve the winning

bidder in any way he requires for a period of one week. The sale of her virginity is included in the

terms. Recipients of the proceeds of the sale are: house takes 50%; Charlotte takes 50%. The winning

bid will be lodged in full by the winning bidder with an intermediary attorney immediately after the close

of the auction for the period of one week, after which it will be paid to the recipients.”

“So, gentlemen. Who is going to start the bidding?”

Please, please let the bidding go well. I can’t have done this for nothing.

There is a huge computer screen on the wall, displaying the progress of the bidding. There are perhaps

a couple of hundred faces or so actually in front of me, but I know there are remote bids being taken

and I see agents pressing ear-pieces to their heads, or scanning computer screens as the bidding

progresses.

The bidding goes very well, opening with an amount of money that makes me blink, then progressing in

thousand-dollar increments. Well, at least I don’t have to worry about not coming out of this with

something worthwhile. My hope is that I can fund my way through college afterwards.

One of the bidders catches my eye. He looks quite nice, good-looking. Will it be him? But after only a

few minutes, he drops out, shaking his head at me.

A note is passed to the auctioneer. He holds up his hand. “A pause please gentlemen. I am getting the

message from several sources that for them to be willing to bid any higher, they want to be able to see

more.” He addresses me directly, “Charlotte. It is entirely your choice, but are you willing to undress at

this stage, on the podium? It will almost certainly help you to bring a better price.”

“Undress now? All the way?”

“It’s up to you Charlotte. No-one is going to make you. But the better they can see what they are

buying, the better your chances.”

I nod, gulping. Except for the black leather collar at my throat, I am dressed sexily but demurely, not

showing too much beyond displaying a bit of cleavage with a low-cut blouse. The hall falls silent as I

unbutton the blouse and let it fall to the floor. My skirt follows, leaving me skimpily dressed in black lace

bra and panties.

“C’mon,” shouts a voice from the back “let’s see the rest.” Oh God, don’t let it be him…

Flushing, I unclip my bra, releasing my large, pendulous breasts. It feels no better, seeing appreciative,

and sometimes calculating, looks from some of the faces in front of me.

Slipping fingers inside my panties, I slide them down to join the puddle of clothes on the floor. I hadn’t

anticipated this, thinking that I would at least be in private with whoever my owner of one week was

going to be.

Naked, I stand in front of my audience, trying to stand straight and thinking that I should be wanting to

burst into tears.

Oddly, I don’t.

The attack of nerves that has been holding me for the last two days is fading away and is being

replaced with a kind of anticipation. My trembling is turning instead into a kind of quivering.

It dawns on me that I am actually beginning to enjoy this.

Shaking my head, my long copper-bronze hair settles in a cloud around my shoulders, draping slightly

over my breasts and cascading down to my waist. I am at least confident that I look good; flat-

stomached, narrow-waisted and long-legged, I know that I have something worth selling.

The bidding resumes.

With mounting excitement, I watch the monitor as the high bid climbs ever higher. To my relief, the

creep who shouted from the back of the room seems to be knocked out of the bidding early. Some of

the audience seem to be there only to watch. Is this how they get their kicks? But plenty more do bid

and I see more remote bids coming in through the agents.

The bidding settles into a three-way war between a short fat man (urgghhhh… noooo…), a tall, kinda-

Chinesey-looking, guy, and someone at the back that I cannot see.

The fat guy drops out, shaking his head and looking pissed off. The bidding continues between the

Chinese guy and the other…then pauses…

“Final offer gentlemen? I have the bidding with number 247 at the back.” The hammer hovers then

bangs down. “Sold! Number 247.”

“Charlotte. Come down to the office please,” says the auctioneer. Once I am inside he says, “Please

read the sale document aloud and then sign it.”

I read the document. I agree that I am selling myself for the period of one week, to include the sale of

my virginity. I certify that I am a virgin and “clean”. I accept that I am agreeing to anything required of

me by my Master that does not result in permanent injury to me… It goes on. I read it aloud,

demonstrating that I know exactly what I am agreeing to.

Who is my new Master?

A man pushes out of the crowd and passes a credit card to the auctioneer. A minute later he has keyed

in a PIN. The auctioneer clips a lead to the collar on my neck and passes it to the man.

He is tall and quite good-looking in a severe sort of way. Dressed in a white shirt, black pants and a

hip-length leather jacket, his clothes look expensive but restrained. Dark, but silvering, hair frames a

tanned face and deep brown eyes.

His eyes smile as he looks at me, but his mouth does not. “Nice to meet you Charlotte. I’m your new

Master for the week.”

“Nice to meet you too,” I mumble, my nerves returning big-time.

“Nice to meet you, Master,” he says, tugging sharply at the leash.

“Sorry, Master. Nice to meet you, Master.”

“That’s better. Now come with me. We’re going to have a little chat.”

He leads me to an ante-room to the auction chamber. It seems to be a storage room for the more usual

kind of auction, furniture stacked everywhere, pictures and ornaments, bric-a-brac, the left-overs of the

lives of people who have moved on. My Master sits on an antique chair, dark wood intricately carved,

gleaming gold in reflected sunlight, and smelling of beeswax.

He is still holding my leash and looks me up and down carefully from where he sits. “Don’t worry,” he

says. “I’ll let you put some clothes on before we go. But right now, I’m enjoying the view.”

I am lost for words and just nod, standing awkwardly under the gaze of my Master.

“On your knees, Charlotte,” he says.