Surrender to a Stranger 1
874 Words
This has to be the craziest idea I've thought of doing my entire life. I mean it is not the most original idea. Ladies of all ages sell their virginity. So it's not like I'm doing anything shocking.
“Not really.”
“I’m twenty-two years old.” So I have the right to decide what I want to do with my life.
I’ve dropped out of college because money is needed for my young brother.
He is sick. Our parents died, so I was left all alone to take care of my sick brother. Our Uncle kept us with him, but his wife never welcomed us with open arms, and lastly, she threw us out of the street.
“I love my brother so much, and I'm not gonna lie about it. Guilt eats me knowing I can't provide for him. I have to work hard.”
Pushing those thoughts aside, I focus on the room around me. The room that would serve for now.
It wasn't that big of a deal. Just a thin piece of skin. A pain that was going to serve to bring me the most money. Sitting on the edge of the bed, I kept wondering what to do. Finding this place hadn't been different, just asking a few of the girls at college had led me right here. To berry.
Yeah! It's so cliché, that is the name of the nightclub. “Berry.”
I came to work as a club waitress. But what I don't know is that the owner, Matthew Berry, had a side business of auctioning off girls' virginities.
“Yes, that he certainly did. It sounds scary when I think about it.”
Meeting him had been a surreal experience. I sat in his office while he stared at my body, assessing me like I was a piece of cake. First, I didn't think he'd go for someone like me. I’m not exactly on the slim side, but I have curves from big t**s to huge hips, rounded, tight with just a hint of cellulite. He made me stand up, ask me to turn around, look the other way, and said he'd actually seemed impressed.
He told me there are two options to pick from for how to sell my virginity. At first, I thought he meant either online or in a room full of men. Nope.
“Two options were, I could have the fairytale deflowering, which is all kinds of weird itself. I guess that is why Matthew is so popular though he caters to most people. The fairytale deflowering is where a man buys me, we have a nice date, and it ends with sex.”
It sounded a little too personal, too intimate, but besides, I needed money for my brother's hospital bill. I had no option. Matthew made it clear that the cost of the date and experience would come out of the final payment, intimacy, and feelings.
“I didn't want that. None of it, also I needed money and it wasn't going to waste it on a date I didn't want.”
So option two. I don't get the date or the fairytale. I stay in a room and wait to see who has decided to purchase my very precious berry.
“From there we fuck.” There is no date. Hell no. Just s*x. A business contract signed and sealed, finished with a d**k.
They have a portfolio of women who want to make money for their first s****l experience. All I had to know was which one paid the most. Matthew takes his cut off ten percent, but after that, it varies with the customer. He told me that some girls had sold for over six figures because the demand had been great.
He wouldn't accept anything less than ten grand, after all, we were offering something of a lifetime. His clientele were f*****g wealthy bastards who enjoy paying for something exclusive.
It seems virgins are hard to come by these days.
“Squeezing my hands, I see the small blue braid bracelet my brother made for me a few years ago. He told me that he's put a special spell on it so no one will ever hurt me.”
“Batting away my tears,” I stood up and paced. My nerves are shot.
Tonight I will be having s*x with a total stranger. Someone I don't know.
"There are no windows in the room. Just one door and a large four-poster bed dominate the room, and they have a thing about mirrors as well."
My black hair is a mess from running my fingers through it. My eyes are wide.
"I’m a little afraid and terrified at the same time." The clothes I was wearing were nothing s****l. Matthew told me I didn't have to dress up. That part of the charm of option two was all the realness of it all.
“Who is it.? What else am I supposed to say? This isn't my home, nor my room. This was just for one night.”
“ May I come in?”
His voice, dark and deep.
“My heart rate triples f**k?”
“This is really happening.”
- Writer
