Mastering The Virgin 3

James

We drive, Charlotte, Michael and me, to leave the City behind in search of the summer, the sea and…. and what?

This ‘holiday’, for which we have the whole summer, will hopefully cement the possibility that our threesome might work as a permanent arrangement. Living continuously with each other for an extended period, we will soon learn if it is a possibility.

But Charlotte knows none of this. The agreement has been made between me and Michael: that we try to persuade our jade-eyed beauty that this is something she might want to do; to accept both of us, permanently.

She’s happy now. I know that. There’s a spark in her eyes since I, not exactly told her, but certainly made it clear, that I love her….

You’re not just a good fuck for me, Jade-Eyes….

…. It doesn’t matter how it happened…. she knows now….

As we loaded up the car to travel, there was a spring in her step, albeit doing battle with the stiffness in her butt from the stripes on her ass. She received those yesterday evening at the hands of an over-enthusiastic Dom, Kris.

Michael is not happy about it and I’m unsure if he’s blaming me. Certainly, he’s blaming Kris….

Wouldn’t like to be Kris the next time those two meet….

The last remnants of the City fall behind us, and we join the highway. It’s an hour or so’s drive, and I enjoy the clear weather and the talk between Michael and Charlotte.

But will she go for it, after our summer experiment?

It’s unconventional….

…. But does that matter? If we’re all happy?

My mind revolving around the possibilities, Charlotte beside me in the passenger seat, Michael in the back, I keep my eyes on the road….

Turning off the main highway, the roads are small and winding, and the journey to Haswell’s ‘beach house’ is magical. A perk of the work I am doing for the billionaire CEO of the Haswell Corporation, it has been loaned to me for the Summer. I get a free vacation home for myself and my friends, and Haswell gets to have me on call should anything occur needing my attention.

We amble down side tracks that grow smaller and quieter by the mile, eventually arriving at a tiny one-car-wide trail that runs parallel with the sea and occasionally all but vanishes under drifting sands from the dunes.

It’s a bright blue day; the ocean sparkles and life is good. Once Michael’s ill-temper has worn off, the talk between him and Charlotte turns into banter and joking, and a real holiday atmosphere develops. She’s sitting a little uneasily, her butt still sore from the stripes landed there by Kris’ crop, but I notice that she’s trying not to wriggle. She knows that Michael is still nettled about it and is going out of her way to appease him.

But where is the beach house?

We drive for miles, skirting dancing surf, and dunes decked with tiny scrambling plants, pretty in the sunlight with pink, blue and white bell flowers. There is an occasional boat, property of some fisherman presumably, resting up on the sands until the tide returns. A small hotel looks to be closed for business, which seems odd considering that ‘the season’ is upon us. And miles along the shore, is a small beach cafe, nestled against more dunes and overlooking the ocean; tempting at any other time, but not now. Nowhere do we see anything that looks like a beach house.

I drive to and fro, up and down the same stretch of road now three times, increasingly losing patience.

“According to the sat-nav, we should be nearly there,” I say, “but I can’t see anything. Either of you spot anything I’m missing?”

Charlotte and Michael look equally baffled. For miles in either direction, there is nothing but sea, sand, blue skies and gulls. It’s a stunning spot, but we weren’t expecting to come camping.

Michael, from his seat behind me, taps me on the shoulder, “Perhaps we should ask at that hotel? With so few houses around, they’re bound to know where it is, surely?”

“Mmmm, yes.” I turn the car yet again, driving a mile or so to pull up outside the hotel, Michael and Charlotte watching as I jump out to knock at the door.

The hotel is not large but looks expensive and well maintained; the sort of place that might be used for small numbers of wealthy guests for retreat holidays or similar. Marble steps lead up to a porch. The door is huge, made from some beautifully carved hardwood, the knocker and fittings are highly polished brass.

There is no reply and I knock again….

…. Am I missing the blindingly obvious…?

Fishing the keys Haswell gave me out of my pocket, I try the lock….

…. which clicks and turns….

Fuck me…

…. This is it….?

…. He calls this a beach house?

I had imagined some low, bungalow or ranch-house type building, perhaps a wooden-shuttered fisherman’s cottage. This place might be small for the hotel we had taken it for, but as a holiday home, it looks palatial.

…. Well, he is a billionaire….

I turn back, grinning. Michael and Charlotte are staring through the car windows, their jaws dropping. I wave them to join me and they scramble out of the car.

Michael stands staring, hands on hips, shaking his head. “This is the ‘beach house’ you’ve been loaned?” he chuckles.

Charlotte’s face is beyond delight. She looks stunned. “That guy you’re working for must really like you, Master.”

Together we step inside, entering a hallway; wide, light and airy, with high ceilings bearing chandeliers, oil paintings on the walls and rooms off either side. The floors are laid out with polished tiles, overlaid by expensive-looking rugs. It runs right through the length of the house ending with a vast picture-window over-looking the sea.

That window beckons. No-one could see that window without wanting to look out. The three of us, as one, walk along the hall to stand and stare out at the spectacular view.

What is this life if, full of care….

…. We have no time to stand and stare….

Charlotte’s voice is almost hushed. “Oh…. My…. God….” she whispers.

Michael is still shaking his head in disbelief. “I see why you were so keen to get that contract. If this is one of the side-benefits…. No wonder you wanted to celebrate that day.”

Charlotte’s eyes swivel. “What did you do to celebrate, Master?” Her voice is innocent, but I’m not fooled.

Do I want to tell her?

Mmmm….

I settle for prevarication. “I bought myself a very expensive present.”

Her brow furrows and I take the opportunity to escape any further interrogation by following a door through to what I think might be a rear entrance.

It is a rear entrance, leading to a wide, flagged terrace overlooking beach and ocean. As far as the eye can see is nothing but sea, sand and blue, blue sky. The ocean ripples gently from silver to jade and fades to a deep cobalt at the horizon. The sky overhead is a pure vault of azure, fading to opal and pearl where it kisses the rim of the world.

It is stunning.

Michael appears at my side. “It’s getting hard to see a down-side to this contract of yours,” he comments. Then, from behind us, inside the building, comes the sound of Charlotte breaking into giggles.

“What’s that all about?” I ask, tossing my head back into the house.

“She wanted to know what you bought yourself as your expensive present,” he laughs.

… Oh…. God….

“You didn’t tell her?”

“Nope. I told her to figure it out for herself. It sounds as though she just did.”

Heat rises up my neck. “It’s not as though I make a habit of shopping for virgins.”

He grins. “I think once was enough.” Then he falls silent as we are joined by our still chortling emerald-eyed non-virgin.

I’m almost lost for words. “Richard did say it’s a private beach, but…. I never expected….”

Michael glances at me sidelong. “Don’t look a gift-horse in the mouth. If you’re getting this thrown in, he’s going to work your ass off for it.”

“I would think so, yes.…”

Michael stands behind Charlotte, his arms around her and his eyes, looking down, are soft as she leans back into his embrace while the three of us drink in the astonishing view.

Then Charlotte stirs. “Michael, Master, have you seen that?” We swing around to see where she is pointing.

Michael takes a deep breath. “A pool as well as the sea? This is unreal.”

We don’t need to speak. En masse, the three of us troop to the tiled edge. The pool’s a good size, with both deep and shallow areas and Roman steps leading down into the water.

Suddenly, Charlotte chuckles and shoves. Michael tilts, hovers, arms out-stretched, then tumbles. But still, he snakes out an arm, catching her by the wrist as he falls, taking her, squealing, with him. They surface, spitting and spluttering, Charlotte still screeching with laughter as she tries to snag long red tentacles of hair away from her face.

Blank-faced, I maintain my dignity. It’s a front and they both know it, “If you don’t mind, children,” I say, “I’m going to change into something more appropriate before I join you.”

In search of swimwear, I haul cases from the car, re-entering the house just in time to hear Charlotte calling outside. “I’ll go track down some towels. Do you want to get the cases?”

“No need,” I yell. “I’ve just brought them all in.”

The two, naked and dripping, pad into the hall, catching towels in mid-air as I toss them across. “Don’t drip on those tiles. God knows how much they cost.”