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Amy.
Twenty-one.
Virgin.
No limits.
I have to look twice at the screen to make sure, but it’s right, Claude confirms it in his summary.
No limits, not a single one.
My throat is bone dry as they play her intro video, and I know the girl shouldn’t be here, she’s too innocent, much too innocent. The nervous sparkle in her eyes, her shy smile.
I can barely look, but I can’t turn away.
She’s absolutely fucking beautiful.
She tells the camera she has no limits, none at all. She tells the camera she’s a virgin. She tells the camera she wants this.
Claude zooms right in on her untouched pussy like the seedy cunt that he is, and she’s perfectly imperfect, her pussy lips puffy and uneven. Her tits aren’t perfect either, natural and fleshy with tight little pink nipples.
There’s an intimacy about her that makes me uncomfortable as I watch her play with herself on screen, as though she’s staring right into me, right through me.
I have to swallow a weird lump in my throat as she wraps her fingers around her throat and tells Claude that’s what she likes, and I nearly come in my fucking pants, right then and there in this disgusting fucking place with these disgusting fucking people.
The bidding starts before I’ve even regained my fucking clarity.
One hundred grand.
One twenty.
One two five.
My father comes in at one fifty.
I head him off at two hundred grand, my eyes meeting his and hoping my stare burns him to fucking death.
He nods. Two twenty.
Two fucking fifty, I say.
Another bidder, some idiot who can’t see what’s going down here. Two sixty.
Three hundred grand, my father says. And let that be a fucking end to it.
But no, no fucking way.
“Three twenty,” I say to Claude.
My father tips his head. “This girl, she’ll have a tit job, yes? And get those dangling fucking pussy flaps trimmed off?”
I could kill the sonofabitch with my bare hands as Claude responds in the affirmative. “Buyer’s expense, of course.”
My father nods. “Three fifty.”
“Four hundred,” I counter.
Claude’s eyes widen, a greedy smile on his face as the room murmurs. It’s safe to say everyone else is out of the running.
“Four-fucking-twenty!” my father shouts. “Don’t be a fucking fool, boy!”
But I am a fucking fool, a fucking fool with a raging hard on in my fucking trousers and an unstoppable desire to block his chances of ever laying a finger on that poor girl.
“Five hundred grand!” I snap.
The room goes silent. Dead silent.
Claude’s gavel hangs paused in the air.
My father shrugs, laughs to the crowd. “He used to have a crush on Debbie Harry, silly little teenage thing.”
The rooms laughs with him, but I don’t care. I’m past fucking caring.
“Five hundred grand,” Claude says. “Any further bids?”
Once, twice, three fucking times, and the gavel comes down with a bang that makes my heart soar.Chapter NineteenAlexanderI’ve paid a cool half a million for one night with some little blonde slip of a girl who doesn’t know what the fuck she’s signed up for.
I think my fixation with the cleaner was less insane than the craziness I’m involved with now, but that doesn’t matter. My heart soars, and it’s a welcome rush.
It would have been worth it just to win the standoff with my cunting father, but there’s more to it than that.
Amy.
She excites me.
The prospect of pushing her limits excites me. It’s base, and thoroughly immoral, the intent to corrupt something so innocent, but this is not a charity endeavour. I’m going to take my money’s worth.
The only saving grace is that she’ll spend her first time with me and not my father. She’s dodged a bullet there, one she’ll never be aware of.
I fill in the specification form as soon as I’m home, listing my preferences for tomorrow evening. My criteria is easy. Simple.
Wear whatever she likes.
No preferences on makeup, or waxing, or what kind of scent she has on.
I want her, as her, exactly as she is.
Claude’s message tells me he’ll confirm ASAP, within the hour.
Good.
I’ll be waiting.MelissaBoth Dean and I jump to attention as the email alert sounds on his phone.
I can’t look. I really can’t look.
I ask him to read it for me, perched on the edge of the sofa with my heart in my hands.
His fingers are shaking as he calls it up, his voice croaky.
“Tomorrow night.”
I can feel my heartbeat in my temples. Tomorrow. I really didn’t think it would be so soon.
“Does it say anything else?”
“An instruction box with client preferences.”
“And?” My eyes feel like dinner plates.
“And it says none.”
“None?”
He turns the screen and I scour the text. He’s right, it says none.
“So I wear what I like?”
“I guess so.”
Guess. I can’t believe we’re guessing over something like this.
“What do you want me to do?” he asks. “Reply or… it’s not too late to change your mind…”
I take the handset from him. Click the button to confirm my availability.
