“I’m coming! I’m coming!”
“Oh yes, you little slut of mine. Come on my big dick,” says Dr. Monroe, as his cock pulses inside me.
But he doesn’t come. He just keeps pounding my pussy while I come for him.
"You're such a dirty, filthy little whore."
Dr. Monroe whips my breasts with the switch and I moan low and deep, surprising myself with the animal sounds I’m making as I come. It feels so good, and so bad, all at once.
“Yes, I’m a slut, who likes to come on your cock!” I yell, heaving and panting as he fucks my brains out.
I love how his cock feels inside me as he's taking me and making me his own, and even as I’m hit with the whip again and again.
I feel both pain and pleasure, just as Dr. Monroe predicted. Mostly, I feel intense pleasure that goes above and beyond everything I’ve experienced in his office to date. I never knew that would be possible, but there’s no denying that here I am on display for him, being submissive to him, being whipped by him, and loving it.
"Elizabeth Jane, I'm going to come now," Dr. Monroe says, squeezing my nipples where he had just hit me with the whip. His cock bulges and throbs inside me. "I love how you let me fuck you until I come."
"I'm coming too," I tell him. I've lost track of the number of times he'd made me come. He twists my nipple with one hand and rubs my clit with the other while we both come together, him grunting guttural sounds and me moaning and crying out his name.
"Dr. Monroe, I want to be your slutty little patient forever," I tell him, when we're both finished but still feel pleasure coursing through us.
"I think you're going to be more than that," he tells me, with a wink.
And this is why I'll keep accepting appointments to be examined by Dr. Monroe. I never knew that having to go see the doctor could be so amazing.
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Sold on Valentine’s Day: A Virgin and a Billionaire Romance
Copyright © 2017 by Juliana Conners; All Rights Reserved.
Chapter 1 – Celeste
Mirror, mirror on the wall, who looks the most elegant but is actually the sluttiest of them all?
I stare at myself a little too long in Rachel’s full length mirror, repeating this silly phrase I’ve just made up in my head and trying to remind myself that it’s really me in there.
Plain Jane Celeste Sheffield. Tomboy, nerd, misfit.
Except that right now I look like a knock out. Rachel’s been telling me that for the past hour, and it’s starting to sink in even though I don’t even recognize the girl staring back at me in the mirror.
From the looks of what I’m wearing you’d think I was going to a fancy party. All the details are in place.
I’ve donned a shiny black and silver evening gown accentuated with a tiny diamond necklace, which was a gift from my mom for my high school graduation.
My red fingernails feature dainty pink hearts that the nail stylist had painstakingly painted on earlier today.
The same stylist also did my hair: adding volume to my normally flat, thin blonde strands and piling them all up on top of my head with tightly- rolled curls spiraling down in a style reminiscent of my high school Prom.
Where I almost lost my virginity, but didn’t.
That’s still intact, although my pride was wounded if not completely broken that night. And now that I’m going to a dinner club where I’ll be auctioned off like cattle, there’s not much of my pride left of which to speak.
Rachel says that only my companionship is being auctioned off. Not my body, not my virginity. But it still feels wrong.
I can’t take my eyes off the mirror. My look is one that someone would wear to a luxurious ball. But I feel like I might as well be wearing a cheap dress that rides up my ass and shows too much cleavage.
“I still can’t believe you want to whore me out,” I tell Rachel, as I pick up my red satin clutch and rifle through it.
I’m making sure I have everything I might need. Even though I have no idea what I actually need for a gig like this. Except maybe a drink, which at nineteen years old, I’m too young to even legally purchase.
“And I can’t believe I’m going along with it,” I add.
Rachel shakes her head and laughs at me.
“Celeste, calm down,” she practically snorts. “I’m not whoring you out.”
She’s supposed to be my best friend— which is the whole reason I agreed to this gig— but right now I don’t appreciate her making light of a very serious situation.
“Well not really, anyway,” she says. “It’s not like you actually have to sleep with them. Some girls choose to, but many don’t. I don’t.”
She shrugs and says the last two words as if pronouncing herself Mother Teresa.
“So, what exactly are they… bidding on… then?”
I can’t even believe I’m asking this question. The whole concept still seems so surreal.
Sure, I already knew that Rachel has a crazy job working as an escort to rich, older men at an exclusive underground dinner club called The Exchange. I know everything about her. But I hadn’t exactly wanted to hear about all the details before.
This kind of job suits her a lot better than it would me. We’ve been friends since we were young girls who met in church Sunday School, and she’s always been the adventurous, rebellious one. I’m usually the one observing from the corner, taking notes and writing about it all later.
“Oh, come on, Celeste,” Rachel says.
She looks annoyed now, which is rich, since I’m the one doing her a big favor tonight.
“You know that there are a lot of guys in Phoenix looking for female ‘friends’ for different reasons.”
“That’s for sure,” I agree. “There are as many rich lonely men here in Phoenix as there are tumbleweeds.”
Celeste laughs genuinely now.
“You and your… what are they called? Similes?” she asks me, shaking her head.
“Metaphors,” I answer.
“Yeah, those. Well, anyway,” she continues. “Sure, some of these guys want sex. But others might be completely impotent and need to keep that fact a secret in their social circle. Some might just want arm candy for whatever reason. Or companionship. Or to keep up with their boss or business partner by bringing someone even more attractive than whomever the other guys is dating to the company party or dinner event.”
“Okay,” I tell her, still feeling hesitant.
“I do need to warn you about something, but don’t worry,” she says, which immediately causes me to worry. “Some guys will bid up to the amount required to take you to dinner— which is all you have to do— but they like to view it as a challenge: they might try to get you to go out with them again or sleep with them, when they’ve only paid for the dinner escort option.”
“How much is the… ‘sleep with me option?’” I ask, my stomach turning into knots.
“A lot more than the dinner option,” she says. “And it just depends on how high the bidding goes.”
“I see,” I tell her, although it’s clear as mud.
“It doesn’t matter,” she says. “Because you don’t have to sleep with them. There are different levels and the one that I do— the one you’re filling my spot for tonight— is just the dinner escort one.”
But what if it’s not?
The question runs through my mind and I don’t know whether to feel terrified or excited. I just know that ready or not, here I come, to fill Rachel’s slot in some strange kind of job where young girls are auctioned off as “companions,” or more, to billionaires.
Chapter 2 – Celeste
&nbs
p; I don’t ask the questions that are spinning in my head out loud. I just stare at Rachel, letting it all sink in.
“Celeste, I’m serious. I’m not whoring you out. It’s just dinner,” she insists. “All that happens is that you have a meal with the guy for Valentine’s Day. Some poor old sap who doesn’t have a date. That’s it.”
“Okay,” I say again. And then, as her eyebrows widen as if she doesn’t believe me, I say, “What? I said okay.”
Rachel’s pretty brown eyes turn wide and pleading, as if she’s worried that I’m going to back out.
I won’t. I’m loyal to my word and would do anything for my best friend in the world— and I guess this proves it. But that doesn’t mean I’m not apprehensive about it.
“You know I wouldn’t ask you to do this if I didn’t absolutely have to,” she says, grabbing my hand and squeezing it as if to apologize. “I really, really appreciate it.”
“I know,” I tell her, half a smile finally creeping onto my face. “And I’m happy for you that Billy seems to want to take things to the next level.”
“What if he proposes tonight?” she asks, a huge smile crossing her face and causing my own to grow bigger.
I can’t be worried about my own fate when Rachel is this happy. She’s been unlucky in love and now things are finally working out.
For months now she’s been dating Billy but living a secret life working at The Exchange. Once it became obvious that things were getting serious pretty quickly between them, I urged her to tell him because I don’t think secrets are good for relationships.
Not that I’d really know, since the longest one I’ve had lasted all of two months last year before my ex dumped me for some co-eds at the college he moved away to attend. But in theory, I just think honesty is the best policy.
Rachel, however, is convinced that Billy would be upset, even though, as she keeps pointing out to me, only dinner— not sex— is involved at her level of participation at The Exchange. She didn’t want to quit the job because it’s good money and she really needs it.
She’s always reminding me that I “came from money” whereas she did not. And she tells me that it’s impossible for me to truly understand why she has to do some of the things she does.
She’s right about that. My family isn’t as rich as Rachel makes us sound but compared to hers, we are pretty well off. So maybe I really can’t understand, although I do try.
I come from a solidly middle class family and my dad worked in computer security for the Federal government while my mom was a well-paid paralegal at a large law firm. Rachel’s dad, on the other hand, was a mechanic by training but by the time I met her, he had already become an alcoholic who couldn’t hold down a job— when he was even around.
Rachel’s mom was a homemaker with little education or skills. She was able to get a low-paying job as a store clerk when Rachel and I were in middle school and she realized that Rachel’s dad was only going to continue to spiral downhill instead of improve their situation.
Rachel always tells me not to judge her because she needs the money to attend college whereas my parents help out with my education. And I don’t judge her.
I just happen to be of the opinion that maybe for Rachel’s own good and for the sake of her relationship she should let her boyfriend in on what she actually does and where she actually goes five nights out of the week, before he finds out on his own. I think it’s only a matter of time before that’s bound to happen because Phoenix is still kind of a small town for a big city.
“If Billy does propose,” I ask her now, “Are you going to tell him how you work at The Exchange, and not just as a waitress?”
“No,” she huffs, shaking her head at me as if that’s ridiculous. “That’s the whole point. That’s why I asked you to go for me tonight. I still need the money and can’t give up the job if Billy’s not as serious about me as I think he is.”
“I know,” I remind her.
And I get it. Or else I wouldn’t have agreed to help her out.
But she continues re-explaining the whole sordid situation to me anyway. That’s my best friend. Always the over analyzer and the over explainer. I love her for it, though.
“So, I can’t ditch The Exchange on the busiest night of the year— their Valentine’s Day auction. But I also can’t skip out on Valentine’s Day dinner with Billy, and miss out on finding out whether or not he’s going to propose. So, that’s where you come in, and I’m very grateful to you for helping me out.”
“But is it really that easy to just substitute you for me?” I ask her, skeptical. “Aren’t there, like, regular customers of yours—”
“Clients,” she interjects, as if I’d just called her a prostitute—
“Fine, clients of yours that will be upset if they show up intending to bid on you and instead see me up there on the… stage?”
I squish my nose up in disgust.
“And is it really a stage?” I ask, as one of many follow-up questions that I have. “Like a cattle auction? Seriously?”
“Celeste, you’re sounding judgmental again,” Rachel growls.
“Sorry. Just wondering. Since I’m going to be the one up there and all.”
“Look, you know you’re the only person I could ask to step in for me,” she begs. “You’re the only person in the world who even knows that I do this. I understand where your judgment is coming from and maybe I deserve it in return for the favor you’re doing me but it’s not like I’m cattle. They want me across the table from them at dinner. They want my conversation. Not just my looks but also my personality. My amazing wit.”
I laugh.
“Well, you do have all those things,” I tell her.
And she does.
“But yes, initially it’s based on looks. Isn’t that how human biology works? Sure, we stand up there so they’ll see what they’re bidding on. And no, they won’t be disappointed when they see you instead of me. Trust me.”
“What do you mean?” I ask her, my interest piqued.
Now she’s appealing to my ego.
Rachel’s good.
“Well, just look at you,” she says, waving her hand up and down to indicate my entire figure in the full-length mirror hanging on her bedroom door. “You’re every guy’s wet dream.”
“I am not,” I insist. “I’ve gained my freshman fifteen and then some.”
“It’s only enhanced your curves, your boobs. It’s given you a healthy glow. You needed to gain some weight. You look healthy now. Vibrant.”
“Thanks, Dr. Rachel,” I tell her sarcastically.
Secretly, though, I’m pleased that she thinks the guys will like me…. the guys who will be at this human auction I would never go to if it weren’t for her.
“And they like new girls. Believe it or not,” she says sarcastically, “Due to the stigma there aren’t a ton of attractive, intelligent young women willing to do this, even though it pays very well and you get free filet mignon and unlimited drinks out of the deal as well.”
“You drink with them?” I ask, aghast.
“Oh honey,” she says, as if I have a lot to learn.
And I guess she’s right. I do.
“Money talks. No one cards these guys or their dates.”
That’s good, because I could certainly use some liquid courage.
“They’ll be thrilled to see a new face and they’ll thank me later,” she insists. “It’s a tight-knit club and the whole goal is to please the clients. I’ll get extra brownie points and maybe even a bonus when I go back tomorrow. If I go back tomorrow.”
She pauses, staring off into the distance as if daydreaming.
“If Billy doesn’t propose, which I really hope he does,” she concludes.
I take her hand again and squeeze it.
“He will definitely propose,” I tell her. “And you can quit working at the cattle auction and live happily ever after with your handsome sugar daddy.”
Billy is in finance and makes
a lot of money. Rachel’s not with him because he’s filthy rich, but it sure doesn’t hurt. I really do want her to continue to find love, stability and riches with the guy of her dreams. So much so that I’m willing to stand in her place as human cattle.
“And you might just actually surprise yourself and have fun tonight as well,” she responds.
I raise an eyebrow at her, incredulous. Even though I was already kind of thinking that myself. I’m not going to admit it to her, though.
“Oh, come on,” she says. “Just think of what happened with you and Tom.”
“I don’t want to,” I quickly say.
Why does she have to bring that up?
It’s definitely not the way to stay in my good graces. If Rachel wants me to keep agreeing to do her this big favor, she shouldn’t get on my bad side by mentioning things I don’t even want to think about.
“I’m just saying,” she continues. “These men are experienced. Older— but not too old. They know what they’re doing. You might actually find that you like the power dynamic. You might be able to loosen up and let yourself go for once.”
“I thought you only have dinner with them,” I tell her.
She blushes, just the slightest bit, and I realize there is way more to her secret life at this club than she’s told even me.
She probably usually only has dinner with them, but I bet there have been one or two men whom she’s let do more, for the right price. She’s far from a virgin like me. Guys have always flocked to her and she’s been more than willing to experiment.
It’s not that I judge her for that. In fact, I’m jealous of her openness compared to my shyness.
“I’m just saying,” she says. “You never know what might happen.”
“Well, good luck with Billy. I think you’ll be getting a ring tonight and I want to hear all about it.”
“Not until tomorrow,” she says, shaking her head. “No cell phones are permitted at The Exchange. It’s a very strict rule.”
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