Silencing His Virgin Page 2

  I hear her, even from over here, chatting up the guy. She’s trying to entice him into spending time with her or getting her a drink. I hear her plying him for sympathy, saying she had her twenty-first birthday a few weeks ago, and this is the first time she has been able to go out and do anything fun. As I watch her, she begins to untie the sweater some from around her waist. She does so in a teasing, egging fashion.

  “Isn’t that sad?” she asks him. He barely responds to her despite all the charm she’s throwing at him. “Don’t you want to make it up to me? Make up for my crappy birthday a few weeks ago?”

  It’s here, just as my princess starts to hang on the guy, that he straight-up rebuffs her. “Sorry, no,” he says, and turns away from her.

  Seemingly undeterred by the very clear and very flat rejection, the girl plasters on another big and bright smile, and goes in for her next victim, another guy, who she immediately starts chatting up. She says hi, and then leans on the bar next to him. She mentioned something about being here for another friend’s birthday, but she says they are here celebrating her birthday too. She slips in that she’s twenty-one, and really likes this kind of thing.

  “I would really like to be able to try some things tonight,” she says, putting on more sparkle and warmth. Now her smile might as well be made from platinum. She tosses her hair at him, adding, “I promise to be a very good study, if you’ll be so kind as to teach me.”

  “No thanks,” growls the second guy, sounding like he actually has to work for a living, and as a cabbie or something. But he can’t be, because we are all billionaires here. “I don’t mess with guests. I’ve never seen you around here, and I’ll probably never see you again, girl.” The girl pouts at this, looking wounded. “Go celebrate your birthday somewhere else.”

  Pulling herself off the bar, my lonely girl groans, and goes to another guy. As she does, I hear her fuss like the princess I know she is. “Why is everybody so mean?” she says under her breath, “Why can’t I get any of these guys to do what I want?”

  After saying this, she falls silent, becomes determined again, and goes in for another attempt. This time, she’s chosen a guy closer to me. She’s even gone so far as to start pulling down the straps on her top, so it is sitting askew on her shoulder. Making her shoulder bare and available to him.

  All over again, she starts her ritual. She says hi to the unfortunate man of her dreams, tries to talk him up into feeling sorry for her, taking pity on her. Except this time, she says that out of her friends, she is the best looking one there, and the guy should feel lucky that she’s over here talking to him.

  “If you think my face is adorable and gorgeous, you haven’t seen what’s underneath these clothes.” She winds her hair around her finger here, leaning close in. “If you wanted to go play a game with me, you’d get to see how much more beautiful my body is everywhere else. Doesn’t that sound fun?”

  I can tell she’s trying to breathe on him, trying to make him smell her perfume, feel her skin touching him, but the guy’s not having it. He gets up without a word, followed by many more of the men around the bar. But they don’t get up to go with her. They get up to disperse throughout the room, some even leaving the club entirely.

  “Hey!” My little princess stomps her foot. “I was just trying to start up a conversation! You don’t have to leave like that!” She quickly loses her volume, and hangs her head. “Why is nobody interested in me? I’m pretty!” She squeezes her own breasts, fluffing them up. “I have great tits! They should be running to me, not away!” She sighs, looking honestly confused and heartbroken at the situation.

  It’s at that point, her eyes land on me. Unlike the other men she’s tried to flirt with, her eyes don’t spark with excitement upon seeing me. Instead, she frowns. She looks unsure about me. I know it’s our obvious age difference. I probably look old enough to be her father, but then again, I am the only man left for her to visit with.

  I smile at her, willing her to come over my way.

  She does, but it’s with a tired, less enthusiastic smile. She waves cutely at me. “Hey there, handsome,” she says. “Wanna buy me a drink?”

  “Sure,” I purr. “I’ll buy you a drink.”

  This has the exact effect I want. She brightens and fills with confidence. She actually takes a seat next to me, while I order her something. I don’t wait for her to tell me what she wants. Beggars don’t get to be choosers. Not in my world. I order her a mai tai, and I’m happy to see she doesn’t complain.

  She also doesn’t say thank you. Not something I’m turned off by. I just want her to warm up to me. She leans close to me. I can read her nervousness and her need for validation all over her.

  “So,” she says, “do you think I’m good-looking? Is that why you want to buy me a drink?”

  I glance at her, passing the drink the bartender has just finished to her. “I do think you’re pretty,” I say. Again, I get the result I want. The girl giggles, and smiles even wider. She sits up straighter. “And pretty girls deserve a free drink now and again.”

  For myself, I’ve decided to forgo any more drinks. Instead, I watch her begin to enjoy hers. But it seems she’s not enjoying it as much, because she still has room to throw questions at me. Now that I’ve told her she’s pretty, she wants to know what parts, what exactly I find beautiful. She rapid-fires questions at me like some kind of gun.

  “Do you like my eyes? What about my hair? How about my lips?” She perks up her breasts. “How about these? A lot of guys in high school told me they jerked off to these babies.” She doesn’t stop to take a breath, or drink. She just keeps going, prattling on and digging at me for something more about her. “You know, I was homecoming queen in high school. I was also voted prettiest, most likely to be a model in my yearbook.”

  I look at her and say, “I don’t care.”

  I really don’t. I also don’t care that this appears to have crushed her fragile ego. Her constant yammering, her constant need for approval is starting to turn me off of the idea of doing anything with her.

  Meanwhile, my princess sputters in disbelief. She quickly has more of her drink, and asks me if I’m curious to see what the rest of her looks like, assuring me she has a great body.

  And that’s when, to save myself the headache and ditching on my plan, and her from any more embarrassment, I pull out the ball gag from my pants pocket and slam it on the bar.

  “What’s your name, girlie?” I ask, watching as her eyes widen, and her lips tighten around the straw of her drink. Briefly, I imagine that it’s my cock.

  “Samantha,” she murmurs, taking her lips off the straw and pinning her eyes on the ball gag, the leather and rubber dominating it.

  “Samantha,” I say, pushing the gag closer to her, “you’d be a lot prettier with this in your mouth.”

  Chapter Three

  Samantha

  Is…that…

  I stare at the object in front of me, unable to believe this handsome, older gentleman just slapped it down on the bar in before me. Is that… a ball gag?! I know that’s exactly what this contraption is. I just still can’t believe someone would just whip out something like this. I mean, I know I’m at some secret BDSM club, where there are actual people naked and strapped up, so this shouldn’t be so much a surprise, but it is.

  I’ve never seen a man so bold. Worse, I don’t know whether to be afraid of that, or turned on. My body is filled with equal parts of fear and a strange, bubbling desire. Even now, his dark brown eyes, framed by pale blond hair, are studying me. They twinkle with amusement and mischief, probably seeing my shock.

  “The name’s Will, by the way,” he murmurs quietly but with authority, “just thought you should know the name of the man who bought you your drink.” He gestures to my mai tai. “Why not have a few more sips?”

  A few moments ago, I might have taken him up on his offer. I might have had a thirst for it, but now that the ball gag’s out on the bar, and baiting me with its presence
, I can’t focus. My mouth dries out, and my jaw shutters and shivers with odd, nervous excitement.

  The size of that silicone ball, the thickness of those leather straps — it all makes my heart and mind race. Saliva creeps up from the back of my tongue, just thinking about the size of the ball, and how suffocating and firm the texture would be. I wonder how much it might stretch my mouth. It maybe even bruise my tongue. I’m oddly curious.

  Why am I not afraid of this? Or of him? Tentatively, I glance at him, watching as he grins again. He puts some of his hair behind his ears, just as my focus returns to the ball gag. Why am I not insulted by that? I trace the leather straps. My fingers crawl closer to the rise of the ball in its little fabric holder. I should be. He just said I would be more beautiful with this in my mouth. Momentarily, I feel self-righteous anger rise in me, snap around like the thorns on a rose. Basically, that I would be more desirable to him if I was quiet! If I didn’t talk!

  But, before I can get too angry with what I’ve just realized Will insinuated, I’m overtaken by curiosity again. I brought it by the texture of the straps and the ball I’m now fingering lightly.

  “What would you do…” I pause, barely able to believe I’m about to ask this ball-gag-toting stranger this, but I can’t stop myself. I untie my sweater some from my waist, fidgeting, and continue with my question. “What would you do if I put this on?” I try to speak softly, so no one hears, but Will hears me as if I were speaking at normal volume.

  “You’ll have to put it on and see, won’t you?”

  I flush full of color and heat, not wanting to hear that, but expecting nothing less. I ball my hands in my lap then, not sure what to do with them. Part of me wants to see what it will feel like to have the ball gag in my mouth, to see what he would do to me if I did, but another part of me is afraid and scared.

  Smart girls don’t take random objects from random older men. They also don’t come to strange clubs in the name of a twenty-first birthday party for a wall-flower friend. As my sweater loosens from around my hips, I feel the tear in my skirt again. They also don’t have my bad luck, and a twin sister who lost her virginity before me.

  Thinking this, I can’t help but search for my other half. My twin sister, Becky. In part, to see if she’s watching me, and in part to see what she’s up to. I don’t see her at the table we were all originally seated at. I spot her out in the crowd, dancing and schmoozing with a gorgeous guy. One of the ones I tried to get to pay attention to me earlier, and who completely blew me off.

  Angry and not about to be outdone once again by Becky, I turn away from her, snatch up the ball gag and put it on. I settle the ball in my mouth as I affix the straps to the back of my head, and make sure they are tight and snug.

  The first few minutes with the ball against my lips and teeth, the girth pushing on each — preventing me from speaking — that’s a scary moment. It’s terrifying to me, almost like drowning, especially with the tighter pressure of the straps also holding on to my face. But when that initial panic fades, I feel something like comfort and calm descending. I can’t explain it, but it just feels right.

  Will seems pleased with me, and that only makes the ball feel heavier and warmer in my mouth. It’s more delightful, especially when coated with his next words.

  “As I thought. Even more beautiful,” he murmurs, finishing my mai tai for me. He does so, as if he’s drinking water. When all the liquid has been drained from between the ice cubes, he says, “Now that you’ve got that beauty on, I have some other things I’d like to do with you.”

  Eagerness and fear slip through me, but they are stopped cold by the ball.

  “Would you like to come to a private room with me?” he asks.

  I can’t breathe over that question. I can’t think, either. But, after a moment of deliberation — remembering that Becky is not going to get one over on me, not tonight — I nod.

  Will smiles, the light from it brightening his handsome, aged face. “Come with me, then,” he says, and extends his hand to me. I take it, feeling like his silent Princess. As he walks me away from the bar, and to a section of the building that looks more like a hotel with various rooms, he tells me, “and you’re going to keep that on the entire time.” I look at him, nodding. “That will only come off when I want, and when I feel like you’ve learned something of value.”

  After that, he drags me with him into a private, dimly-lit room.

  Chapter Four

  Will

  From the moment I took out that ball gag and put it on the bar in front of her, I’ve enjoyed the look of fear, confusion — and yes, maybe even a little anger — on Samantha’s usually-cocky and entitled face. I wasn’t sure she would actually take me up on my invitation, and put that baby on.

  I thought she would soundly and angrily reject me, after realizing what I’d insinuated —that silence would suit her better, make her prettier — but, boy, was I wrong! She not only put it on, but she put it on with energy and fight. The way her fingers and hands worked it was like she was going to war with some unseen enemy. And this was after she briefly glanced behind her and saw something.

  Of course, I looked to see what it was, but didn’t see anything.

  What I did see, though, was all that mattered. Samantha, looking just as beautiful as I knew she would that large, thick ball in between her plump, pink lips — her praise-hungry mouth.

  Well, well, well. It looks as though she’s not as much of an obstinate brat as I thought she might be. And silence, it really does suit her.

  Just looking at her, the way her lips cling to the ball and the color difference between the two, that’s delicious. It’s sexy enough to have me getting hard again, as well as thinking about what I would do to her, now that she took the bait.

  I have a few ideas. Like getting her alone, and to our own room, where I will then have her all to myself. I will do whatever I want with her, while she’s good and quiet.

  If she behaves herself, if she’s exactly what I’m looking for in a woman tonight, she’ll get everything that I can offer. But first, she needs to agree to coming with me.

  So, I put my next challenge in front of her. I ask her if she wants to accompany me to a private, secluded place, now that she satisfied her curiosity — and mine — and put on the gag. I watch her think about my offer for a moment. Her face oscillates between fear and excitement, confusion, and that same hellish determination I saw earlier then, she finally gives her answer. A nod yes.

  That done, I offer my hand, and we go to an area of Club Lush, not too far away from the main exhibition area, filled with private rooms. I always rent one, every night. Even if I don’t use it, I rent one. I reserve it, just in case.

  I’m wealthy enough to do so, anyway. As it is, I just do the job at my parents’ real estate business for something to do, not because I need or want more money.

  As I lead her into my paid-for room, the Black Rose room as I like to call it, since it has a lot of black and purple in the decor, I enjoy some looks of fear and trepidation in her eyes. But again, Samantha’s torn between excitement and terror. Curiosity and dread fill her face, and it looks luscious and creamy on her mouth, still held open by the ball.

  As I step her inside the dimly lit room, decorated by wall ties, various pieces of furniture with straps, gizmos attached, and a proudly displayed collection of whips, toys, paddles, and anything else a dom like me might want to play with, I watch her body move. The way it moves forward with the perfect mixture of grace, strength and timidity.

  As she walks over the threshold fully, and stands in the middle of the room, I go to close and lock the door to our safe Haven, our little getaway, at least for an hour or two.

  That’s the most time I spend with any girl, any time. I’m not really into the whole long-term, committed situation. Virgin nights, virgin pussy and one-magical-night-stands, that’s my game, and even with Samantha, I plan to stick to that.

  As I come back toward her, look at her shyly
studying her surroundings, I say, “Please, have a seat.” I gesture to one of the many chairs. Some with straps and restraints, others without. I don’t tell her which one specifically, as I want her to panic a little bit. To be in her own head about it, make up her mind, so I can see just how obedient she’s going to be for me.

  Samantha doesn’t move. At least her body doesn’t. Her sweater, the white, fluffy cashmere thing she has tied around her waist, does. It falls straight off her hips, crumbling to the floor. She moans surprise from over the gag and moves to pick up her sweater. But I stop her.

  “I didn’t tell you to pick up your sweater. I told you to have a seat, which you haven’t done.”

  Samantha immediately stops. She stands up straight again.

  “I’m going to get to what’s bothering you, what all the fuss is about with that sweater in a moment, but right now I have more pressing questions,” I tell her.

  I move closer to her, hearing her tongue suck lightly on the rubbery texture of the ball. Her lips squeeze nervously as I walk right up next to her.

  “You see, Samantha, I have very specific tastes in women. Very specific things I crave, so I need to know if you fit that or not.”

  She nods, shuffling on her heels. She doesn’t move away from me. She simply fidgets, and listens.

  “Are you a virgin?”

  The moment I ask her this, she visibly stiffens. She moans/groans from over the gag I have on her, but doesn’t make any move to answer either way.

  “If you’re thinking about whether to lie or not, don’t.”

  Her eyes meet mine. A slight blush rolls across her face, visible to me even in the dim light. In this room, as in all of the others, there is a faint smell of incense, and drugs long since banned.

  “I will know if you’re lying to me. I will also make sure you are kicked out of this club before you even have time to swallow any more spit. That is, if you’re lying.” I cradle one of her cheeks in my hand, blown away by the softness of her skin and the bounciness of her hair. “If you tell the truth, I will reward you.” I brush my thumb on her cheek briefly, before taking my hand, and my little touches of affection away. If she wants more, she’s going to have to earn it. “Think carefully now.”