Silencing His Virgin Read online

  Silencing His Virgin

  Copyright © 2019

  Jamie Knight –

  Your Dirty Little Secret Romance Author

  All rights reserved.

  Sign up for my newsletter and

  get a free book!

  Click here to get me!

  Table of Contents

  Chapter One

  Samantha

  Chapter Two

  Will

  Chapter Three

  Samantha

  Chapter Four

  Will

  Chapter Five

  Samantha

  Chapter Six

  Will

  Epilogue

  Samantha

  Sneak Peek of Binding His Virgin

  Newsletter Sign Up

  Chapter One

  Samantha

  This birthday celebration for Melissa was supposed to be fun for her and help me get my mind off of my own horrid life! But so far, all it’s done is make me think about everything bad that’s happening to me more!

  In the bathroom at this hot dance club in New York City called Nova Rush, I think about how much fun this was supposed to be. I remember how me, my sister, and our group of friends from NYU thought this was a great way to help Mel ring in her twenty-first birthday.

  I was the most excited about it, since I was the one who came up with the idea in the first place. And why not?

  “I’m always up to party,” I murmur at myself.

  I say was excited due to one detail; one thing I wasn’t expecting. Yesterday, my twin sister, Becky, went and did something before me. She lost her virginity first!

  “And when I’m supposed to be the older, more experienced one out of us!” I whine. I sit on the closed toilet lid in a bathroom stall, still not believing Becky’s telling the truth. “If any one of us was going to have sex first, it was supposed to be me! It should have been me!”

  I pout, thinking about how I’ve always been the prettiest out of the two of us. How, even in high school, I was voted prettier than my twin. I became the homecoming queen hands down, and got all the boys. I got all the attention, even with my sister being nearly identical to me. Even then, I was always told I was prettier. I was treated like I was prettier, too.

  Until I started college, I think, remembering how that, like this, hasn’t been the smooth sailing, and the continual boost to my confidence and social life that I thought it would be. The moment I started this dumpster-fire addition to my life, this college thing, I haven’t been the same. I’ve lost my confidence. Guys don’t talk to me anymore! But they come up and talk to my sister all the time! They come up and fuck her too, apparently!

  I get off the closed toilet lid, growling to myself. “That is, if she’s even telling the fucking truth about the guy she told me she slept with, right before we all piled in the car to come here tonight. She gets some guy to fuck her, and I can’t even get one to take me out on a decent date. I can’t get even one to take me out to dinner and tell me how pretty I am!”

  As I make my way out of the bathroom stall, I feel something grab me at the hem of my skirt. Right as I feel it grabbing and catching, I hear it too: the sound that will destroy my entire night even more — ripping and tearing. Fatal damage is done to my favorite piece of clothing.

  I look down, seeing a large, tattered gash down my lacy, expensive skirt. It has been ripped in just such a way so that it exposes my bare thigh and hip on that one side.

  “Oh, no! My favorite skirt!”

  I pick up the ripped, ruined section of my skirt, and examine it. It really is torn all the way through the multiple layers. No bobby pin or hair clip is going to make it look normal. Just looking at the damage is enough to make tears flood my eyes, and my anger and frustration resurface.

  “That’s it,” I scream, “this is the worst fucking night ever! It can’t possibly get any worse!” I hurry myself to the door of the restroom and storm out. “It’s not going to, because we are not hanging around here anymore! Not with my clothes looking this way!”

  Immediately out of the bathroom, I spot my twin sister, Becky. She’s hovering around nearby, in accordance with our usual ritual. When one is in the bathroom, the other usually does guard duty to make sure we don’t run into creepers. The moment her eyes meet mine, I take off my sweater and tie it around my hips before she can see the apocalyptic destruction that’s come to my wardrobe.

  I move over to her saying, “I want to go. This place sucks, Becky.” Briefly, my eyes find our group of friends dancing among the darkness, flashing lights, and the reflections of the disco balls.

  Among the cluster of friends, I can spot Melissa, the birthday girl. Not because I can see her clearly, but because she’s hovering as far away from the rest of the group as possible. She always does whenever we go somewhere loud and fun.

  “Besides, Melissa is just doing what she always does. Being socially awkward and unavailable, even at the coolest spots!”

  Becky purses her lips at me. Her matching dark eyes and light-brown hair are like looking in a mirror, except she wears hers shorter than I do mine. She likes to wear hers in crisp curls — like an 80s cartoon fairy, while I prefer long mermaid waves.

  “We can’t just go,” she says, “this night is for Mel and her twenty-first birthday, not you, and whatever issue you’re having!”

  I ball my fists at my sides. “It’s not whatever issue, Becky!”

  “Listen!” Becky comes closer to me, dragging me in the direction of our group of friends. “You’ve been being a bitch all night, and you need to chill the fuck out! This is Mel’s night, and she’s having fun!” Her voice is a hot, motherly whisper. It’s an exact copy of something our actual mother might say or do if she were here.

  “Having fun? She’s standing against the wall,” I growl, gesturing at Mel.

  As I point, Melissa moves away from her spot by the wall, and begins to collect our friends. As we get closer, I can hear her begging Britney for something, then pleading for something from all them. Her large innocent eyes gloss over me.

  “I Bet she’s asking to leave because of the shy thing!” I hiss to my twin.

  Becky doesn’t answer me. She keeps moving us toward our group of friends. As she does, I can’t get my mind off the fact that she lost her virginity first and that she’s acting more confident, and looking more beautiful, because of it. The way she was glowing and happy when she told me what happened, I want that for myself, and I can’t believe she got to have it first.

  “I can’t believe you lost your virginity, Becky! I can’t believe you got to experience that before me!” I snap at her, as Mel comes up to us, and starts to murmur about some discomfort or other. I’m not really listening. I just want to hear what my sister has to say. “I bet you’re lying about it. Just like the time you lied about getting Valentines cards from every boy in our class in middle school!”

  “I did not make up losing my virginity, Samantha! He was really good in bed, that Tyler, and if you are being like this because you’re jealous of me, you might want to think about not being so overbearing with people!”

  “Overbearing?” Over my words, I see Mel move away from us. She shoos our friends toward the doors and out. “I’m not overbearing!”

  I feel fresh tears sting my eyes. I’ve just glanced at the tatters at the bottom edge of my skirt where it was split by the stall door, and I’m back to feeling sorry for myself. I feel ugly and unworthy, especially compared to my sister.

  “It’s just not fair that everybody seems to be paying more attention to you these days, and not giving a fuck about me!”

  “Oh, stop being such a baby,” scolds Becky, dragging me out of the club with the rest of our friends. “Maybe if you we
ren’t such a whiny little bitch, fishing for compliments and throwing a tantrum over stupid things, maybe a guy would actually want to fuck you!” These words are hissed at me as we come out onto the sidewalk, and Britney and Shay wander over to a city map, in search of something else to do.

  I don’t like my twin sister being so mean and unfair to me. I can’t help it. I start wiping at my eyes with my free hand, feeling like I could just go back into that stupid bathroom and cry the night away, but we don’t have time for that.

  Britney’s bolted off down the sidewalk, urging all of us to follow after her. Everyone’s started running, even Becky. I have no choice but to follow, but it’s murder in my thick, wedge heels. These were not made for running, and I try to get my twin to stop. I don’t want to add a broken heal to the list of my wardrobe malfunctions, but she’s not listening. She’s murmuring about Britney seeing somebody with cool interesting clothes and a nearby club.

  I’m not sure how long we’re running for, but thankfully, we do stop eventually. It’s across from a stately, old-timely-looking mansion/villa. While such buildings are not strange to me, many of the fraternity and sorority houses near the University come from a similar era of architecture, and there are some wealthy boroughs filled with these kinds of houses, it’s strange to find one here in the middle of the city. We haven’t been in this part of the city much, not where we’ve run to, but the mansion still looks out of place. It’s like some mysterious and magical doorway appearing out of nowhere.

  We stop long enough for me to fix my wedged high heels — to make sure they don’t come off or snap at the straps — but soon we’re off again, crossing the street quickly and sneakily. I can barely see what the rest of the girls are after, but I don’t care. My mind is still bemoaning my bad luck: the rip in my skirt and my still-present virginity.

  Is it so wrong to want to feel pretty? Is so wrong and bad to want a guy to complement you?

  At first, as we cross the street and get up on the sidewalk in front of the large mysterious building, and I read the fancy sign with “Club Lush” carved on it, I’m feeling bad for myself. I’m pouting again, but then I decide, no, it’s not wrong. It’s good and right that I should want to feel pretty.

  I’m going to find a good-looking guy at whatever this place is, and I’m going to make him tell me how pretty I am. He’ll buy me drinks and take my virginity, so I can feel confident and gorgeous again. My sister shouldn’t get all the fun!

  We make it in through the front doors of this new club. Britney’s struck up a conversation with a super-dapper gentleman, and his equally gorgeous partner. The partner is wearing a gorgeous black and red corset, and some serious boots and belt straps along her legs and thighs. I’m barely listening to whatever that conversation is. I’m busy thinking about my game plan. Now I’m going to rescue this night for myself.

  After a few more words are exchanged, the gentleman and his partner leave, and we are allowed inside the club. Once through the second pair of double doors, I’m immediately struck by the different vibe of the place. It’s got darker, smokier lights, for one. For two, based on all the naked/kinkily dressed people being whipped on stage and on walls, plus couples leading each other on leashes and in hoods, I know where we’ve ended up. I’ve heard of these places before. This is a sex club.

  I walk with my back straighter, taking in this new place.

  Just as we are getting led to and sat down at a table close to a bar by a waitress, I see another lady approaching. Unlike many of the others here, she is dressed impeccably. She’s in a to-die-for white gown, looking like Marilyn Monroe, with her blonde curls of hair, classically beautiful red lips and eye makeup. She introduces herself as Lady White.

  As we all take our seats, she begins to explain the way things go at her club. “If you’re going to stay, ladies, if you desire to be our guests, you will need to participate in tonight’s festivities. Not just giggle or gawk.”

  Participate in tonight’s festivities? I think, ignoring the noobish questions Britney, Karen and Shay are asking about what she means. I am so down for that! I’ll not just participate, I’m going to partake of the sexiest, most beautiful guy here! I’m going to let him do whatever he wants with me! Over my thoughts, I hear Lady White giving some options to the girls of how to “play” in this den of delights.

  But me, I’ve already got my game plan. It involves chatting up all the sexy men seated around the bar, seeing which one knows how to talk to me the right way first. One of them has to know how to complement and take care of me the way I deserve after such a shitty night out.

  I start my rounds with the handsome group of men, just as I see Melissa scurry away from the table and to the bathroom.

  Poor shy girl. She probably has to go to the bathroom she’s so nervous!

  I saunter closer to the bar, to a man sizing me up. He looks cocky and strong — exactly the kind of guy I need to end this horrid night the right way.

  Better prepare yourselves for me, boys, I think, coming near to my first guy, no one else is going to give you company like I will!

  Chapter Two

  Will

  God, I’m so bored. I’ve been coming here to Club Lush every night for the last couple of weeks, and nothing new or interesting has happened, so why do I keep coming back? Why do I keep thinking Lady White’s club is going to get any more intriguing, the more I come around?

  I sigh, looking at my line of empty imported beer bottles. The only thing interesting or shapely in front of me tonight so far.

  All the women here are experienced, been around the block just about as many times as me, and I like fresh. I like my women like I like my beer: unopened.

  I finish off the last of my Jamaican beer, contemplating what otherworldly alcohol I can enjoy — maybe some sake, a spicy, knock-you-out variety. I need something with a bit of bang, since there aren’t any women I’m liable to do that with around here.

  Giving orders to someone who’s never had to take them before, that would be fun. Making her come under my control, how I say, when I say, and when this whole world of BDSM and being my toy is new to her, that would be beyond the great. With that thought alone, I’m starting to feel perky below the belt. My cock is warmed and slightly energized. It would be like what I do at work all day and my parents’ real estate company — boss newbies around for fun. Except this would be with a naked virgin woman, and at my penthouse.

  Enlivened by this thought, a plan begins to emerge: I will find some girl here who looks out of place but interesting, get her to do a couple things for me, take her home, and get her to do a couple more. Blood and heat flow through my cock, making it harder than before. Not enough to show, but enough for me to notice his movement on the underside of my slacks.

  Something in me pings. It tells me to turn around. Though I’m not sure why, I do as my strange feeling dictates. There, the moment I turn my head around to look behind me, is a group of women. They are young women compared to me, that are wandering in here looking lost and intrigued. They are like a bunch of Alices dropped down the rabbit hole.

  One in particular catches my attention. She is being dragged by a young woman that looks almost identical to her, except for their hairstyles. The one dragging her has a curlier, pixie look, while my object of interest has traditional wavy, flowing hair.

  Even from all the way over here, I can see that my pretty young thing has an attitude. She holds herself like she’s the most important woman in the room, despite being currently approached by Lady White. She moves her eyes around the stages and occupied walls as if it’s nothing to be afraid of. It is exciting to her, but not terrifyingly new.

  I turn more fully around on my barstool, intrigued. Her dark eyes flash with eagerness. Her cotton-candy pink lips pucker with a barely-concealed pout. Already, without hearing her speak, I can hear the way she might beg and plead with me. The way she might beg and cry at everything I would love to do to her.

  That is, if I let her talk at
all.

  I get up from my barstool, scurrying to my private locker. All us regular customers have one, and they are conveniently located close to the bar. Doing the quick combination to my small, personal locker, I pull out my most favorite item. My hefty, leather ball gag, with a huge, weighty ball attached. I take the thing and slip it into the pocket of my slacks, enjoying the weight there. I also enjoy the image I get of Miss Pouty Princess wearing it for me — having her mouth stuffed with it, being unable to complain or pout at me about whatever I’ve chosen to do with and to her.

  I feel myself go harder just thinking about it — all the moaning and slobbering she’s going to do over that mouthful — how she might tear up because of it, wondering why I won’t let her talk.

  She’s going to be fun to play with, I decide, quickly shutting and locking my locker, and returning to my place at the bar. She’s going to be fun to teach a lesson, and I’m definitely in the mood to teach.

  I feel my cock thump defiantly against my slacks, aching to get out and get a taste of this new girl. I push it down fiercely and find my prize again. She’s focused in on the bar — on all of the men gathered around it. There’s a glow to her eyes, a spark in her smile that tells me all I need to know about her: she’s used to getting her way, demanding anything and everything from whomever she thinks ought to give it to her.

  Well, my pouty Princess, you’re about to step into a different world. You’re about to learn how far that won’t get you.

  I sit forward in my seat, watching her as she approaches her first guy of the night. The moment she steps within range, she’s all charm and flirtation. She’s got it dialed up all the way, swishing her hips this way and that, and playing with the arms of the sweater she has wrapped around her waist.

  Once I make you mine, Princess, you’re going to learn just what all that chatter is going to get you: Sweet, total silence.