Virgin Sale: Aubrey: Bought by the Billionaire, An Older Man Younger Woman Romance

by Harley Jane Meadows

  I throw on a white silk robe, and go to the mirror. In all the flurry of activity, I forgot that they were doing my makeup as well. I look good. Not overdone, either. A subtle hint of blush in my cheeks. Lipstick a shade of pink that almost looks like I’m wearing nothing at all. Damn.

  The door opens again. It’s a man, carrying a garment bag. “Hello,” he says, giving me a warm smile. “I’m Garner, your dresser.” Good lord, I really am in the Hunger Games.

  “Um…”

  He lifts a hand in a reassuring gesture. “Easy now. When we’re done, you’re gonna have everything you need to knock their socks off.”

  I take some comfort in his words. I can use all the help I can get, right now. I take a deep breath. “Okay then, Garner. Let’s do it.”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Oliver

  The 727 touches down, and I wake up. I look around. Good, we’re here. I blink a few times, and sit up in my chair. “Good afternoon, Mr. Sable. Local time is four fifty-eight PM.” The stewardess stands over me, smiling.

  She looks good. She’s wearing this tight red uniform, with a light blue button-down shirt underneath. Her shirt’s unbuttoned half way down her chest, and it’s clear she’s not wearing anything underneath. Her smile doesn’t budge.

  I remind myself that banging stewardesses is not why I’m here. I give her a nod. “Thanks.” I run a hand through my hair, and across my face.

  I run my tongue over my teeth. Uff. I’m definitely going to grab a shower and brush my teeth before this thing kicks off.

  I look over at my best friend, Mitch, as he pours himself one last drink before we disembark. “Did you sleep well, pal?”

  I nod, and stand up to stretch. “Like a log.”

  Mitch and I were at Yale together. He’s never worked a day in his life, and he’s heir to a textile company. It practically runs itself. I don’t think he’s sat in on a board meeting in years. He drinks, he womanizes, and he doesn’t have a single redeeming value that Man or Science can find. I love keeping him around. It’s so much easier to feel like a good person, standing next to him.

  He gets up, and grabs the seat in front of him to catch his balance. “You’re gonna love this, my boy. You’re going to absolutely love it.”

  This is Mitch’s third or fourth time, coming to an Auction. It is my first. There were rumors about the Palace in college. One guy in our frat was supposedly the product of such a relationship. The classic Cinderella story: man buys woman (or at least rents her), man falls for woman, woman has his child. They live happily ever after.

  Yeah, right.

  Mitch has no interest in settling down any time soon. Neither am I, come to think of it. But you can only bang so many models and wannabe actresses with that bored fucking look in their eyes before you get sick of it. I want something new. Something different. And I finally ran of reasons not to join Mitchell on a wicked weekend.

  “They don’t just have virgins, FYI,” he stammers, as we step off the plane. There’s a stretch limo waiting to drive us what looks like 400 yards to the actual hotel. Fuck it, we’re walking. I take Mitch’s arm, and pull. I pull harder than I need to.

  “H-hey!”

  “I’ve been cooped up for hours on the plane. I want to stretch my legs. C’mon.”

  Mitch drops his drink, and the tumbler shatters on the tarmac. I give orders as we walk past the limo. “We’re walking. Be waiting for us when we get there.”

  No ‘yes sir’, no ‘right away, Mister Sable’. The driver just nods once and gets in the car. Why am I feeling grouchy? I used to live for this stuff. Getting into debauchery because it’s not entirely legal. Who cares.

  The air is hot in my lungs. Just because it’s getting closer to dusk, doesn’t mean it’s not still fucking Nevada. It’s hot.

  “What I was saying was, they don’t just have virgins.” Mitch pulls a flask from his jacket, and takes a pull. He hands it to me. I take a sniff— it smells like single malt scotch. No reason not to. I take a swig and hand it back to him. “I mean. I figure that’s what you’re here for? But. There’s this one bitch. What’s her name. Ramona. God. The things that woman can do with her tongue…”

  The last time Mitch went away for one of his weekends, he was gone for fourteen days, and came home with a tattoo he had to have expensively removed. I can’t fucking wait to see if this place lives up to his stories.

  I button my jacket— the wind is a nuisance and I don’t want it flapping the entire walk.

  We pass through what passes for an airport. Every single employee nods and greets us by name. No one helps us with our luggage— that’s already en route to the hotel.

  I step out of the airport, and get my first good look at ‘The Palace’. Jeeeeeesus. They really spared no expense on this place. No wonder so many peers of mine rave about it, behind closed doors. They call it ‘the most expensive dirty little secret in the world’. Looking at this place… I’m starting to believe it.

  I’ve been with escorts, actresses, models, and women who were titans of industry. Hell. I even banged my CFO. Now I’m going to pay good money for a virgin. I’ve never fucked one of those before. I’m curious to see what it’s like.

  Boredom, what passes for peer pressure among billionaires, and a driving need to feel something have brought me 2,500 miles to visit a palace of sin. The Palace of Sin.

  Let’s see what they have to offer.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Aubrey

  Showtime. I’m escorted into a long hallway, wrapping around a ballroom. There are so many women, all standing in line. Tall, short, fat, thin. Women as young as 18, up to what I’m guessing are fifties, even sixties. I see a woman stride by with silver hair, I swear to god she could be Helen Mirren’s stunt double. She looks amazing.

  All these girls— all these women— are here to be auctioned off. And I’m one of them. I signed up for this. There’s a lot of nervous energy in the air. The girls are murmuring to each other, but we’re all strangers. Every last one. I’ve never seen any of these girls before in my life.

  And then there’s the clothing. Or should I say, lack of clothing. I’m standing in a row that feels a mile long. Half these girls aren’t wearing a stitch. Some are wearing thongs. One girl with a deep tan is wearing a neon pink bikini. There’s a cheerleader or two, three or four girls in ‘naughty schoolgirl’ outfits. One woman is wearing a costume from a hit scifi TV show from the 60’s. It takes all kinds…

  I see a few women in black— I’m guessing they’ve been here a few times. They’re more reserved, they’re wearing little black dresses or lingerie. There are also women in cherry red fabric. Negligee, ballgowns, even a teddy!

  They’ve lined us up so that there’s variety. For every two girls in white, there’s a woman in red, or a school girl outfit, and so on. I guess they don’t want the bidders to get tired of bidding on the same kind of girls, back to back.

  A woman in rich, purple silk steps out of a waiting room. She’s standing pretty far away, but I can see she’s wearing an earpiece with a microphone attached on a thin wire. She taps it with her fingertip, once, and a speaker carries the noise through the entire hall.

  “Ladies.” As one, the girls hush up, and turn to listen to her. “I am Portia. Bidding is about to begin. You have your numbers. You will be called into the green room in an orderly fashion. When your number is called, you will proceed to the stage. You will receive prompts through your earpiece, and you will follow instructions.”

  I turn around. The girls in white, they’re in rapt attention. The ladies in red look like they’re following along with what they’ve heard on previous visits. The ladies in black all seem bored, like being bid on by millionaires is routine for them. Oh god. That could actually be true…

  “You will not be privy to bidding amounts as the auction proceeds, only that bidding has finished. You will be informed after your auction has concluded, regarding what the final amount has come to.”

  Gulp. That’s s
mart, I guess. No reason to distract us while we’re up there…

  “Once in the green room, you will be fitted with your earpiece. You will have your time to make any last-second adjustments, as well as the opportunity to ask any questions. There are over one hundred gentlemen and ladies here tonight, bidding for your time. Satisfy them. For women whose behavior reflects poorly on the Palace, you will find the consequences are dire.”

  I risk another look back up the line. The women in red and black look really serious, now. Jeez. Portia’s not kidding.

  I slip back into line, and the waiting begins.

  ~~~

  The girl immediately ahead of me is also wearing white. Behind me in line is a woman in red, followed by a woman in black. Nobody is talking to anyone. No more chitchat. I swallow.

  I take a few deep breaths. Now that I’ve got nothing to do but wait, I’m starting to panic. I can’t be the only one, can I? I can’t be the only one having second thoughts.

  Oh god, what am I doing? I’m selling my virginity to a total stranger. And I don’t even know for how much! What the hell was I thinking??

  I’m hit by this tidal wave of doubt and discomfort. Oh god. Oh god, this is a mistake. I shouldn’t be here. I never should have agreed to this. I have no idea what I’m doing. I have no idea what I’m doing!

  The woman in red behind me puts a gloved hand on my shoulder. “Breathe,” she says. Her voice is soft and patient.

  “It’s okay,” she says, nodding. “You’re going to be fine. A lot of girls have second thoughts about losing their virginity. Yours just comes with a bonus. That’s all.”

  My voice comes out a whimper. “But what if nobody bids? I don’t— I’ve never done anything with a guy, before. Not really.”

  She nods again. “Good. Use it.”

  “Use it?? How?”

  She takes a breath through her nostrils, and lets it out slowly through her mouth. “Breathe like I do. C’mon.”

  I follow her example. I’m breathing a bit slower. The panic starts to fade. It’s not a lot, but it helps. “Look. I’ll let you in on a secret. Okay?”

  More slow breaths in through the nose, out through the mouth. “What’s that?”

  “A lot of first-timers try to play up this whole sex-kitten vibe. They’re flirtatious, they’re playful. They go over the top.”

  I don’t see where she’s going with this. “Uh huh…”

  “If you’re wearing white, that’s not what they’re looking for. They want the blushing virgin. They want you to be unsure. They want the, the privilege of taking you by the hand, and walking you out of your comfort zone. They want to be your first fuck. And they want it to be the fuck you’ll never forget.”

  I nod, and let this sink in. “O—okay. I think I understand.”

  She nods. “Good. What you’re feeling right now? That insecurity? Use it. You’re pretty. You’ve got curves. You don’t know what the hell you’re doing. You’re exactly what they came here to buy.”

  Jeez. When she puts it like that…

  “Number twenty three.”

  She nods at the line, which has disappeared in front of me. “Go get ‘em, kiddo. They’re gonna eat you right up.”

  It’s my turn to enter the green room. I’m next. I’m next.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Oliver

  The auction’s begun. I’ve never seen so many millionaires and billionaires in the same room. It’s ridiculous.

  I’m in white tie, as are most of the other people bidding. Mitch bothered to put on a suit, at least. I’m fascinated by this whole thing. I’ve seen some wild shit before, but never seen the one percent come together to bid on human beings, before. I’d be outraged, but I’m here for the exact same reason.

  God knows where they got these girls. They must have hit up every junior college in America. No, that’s not quite right. There are girls from around the world, walking across the stage. Girls of every size, shape, and ethnicity.

  I look around at my fellow billionaires. There’s Percy Kincaid, who’s pretending not to recognize me. He’s got a folder open on his lap and a touchscreen in his hand. Percy’s apparently got a thing for redheads, because those are the only ones he’s bidding on.

  Mitch isn’t interested in the virgins. “I came here for the fuck of a lifetime, not bone some poor girl who’s never touched a dick before.” He doesn’t bother whispering, and is ignoring the looks from our neighbors on either side. “Oh, what.” Percy goes back to the folder on his lap, while a woman in white leaves the stage. On comes another woman in a white cape.

  The screen above the stage reads ‘No. 23.’ Okay. Mitch looks up at the stage long enough to see the girl is wearing white, and goes back to his drink. “Ugh, whatever. Bring on the bitches that know what they’re doing.”

  I’m intrigued. The girl slips off her cape like she’s doing a burlesque act. She tugs at her opera gloves— also white— and starts doing a strip tease.

  Murmurs go through the crowd. I see on my touchscreen how the bidding is going. It’s not going great. Starting bid is ten grand. Someone else pushed it to fifteen.

  “I’m confused,” I say, leaning over to Mitch. He raises his hand, holding an empty glass. In less than thirty seconds, someone’s brought him a fresh one. “She’s a virgin, right?”

  Mitch rolls his eyes. “Yeah. Duh. That’s why she’s wearing white.”

  I nod at the stage. “So why is she doing a strip tease?” Bidding has gone up to eighteen grand. It’s been twenty seconds since the last bid. “I thought the whole point was… never mind.”

  The screen over the stage closes in on the girl. She shoots a coy wink at the camera. Bidding does not increase. She’s wearing a white silk negligee under her cape. The cape is in a pool around her feet, and she’s doing some kind of shimmy as she peels the negligee off. She’s completely naked, underneath.

  Bidding reaches nineteen thousand.

  Mitch looks up at the screen, as she giggles and turns this way and that on the stage. “Mm. Not bad.” He immediately goes back to his screen, flipping through profiles of women in red or black.

  She starts doing jumping jacks. Good lord. I lean back over to Mitch. “Why not leave little something to the imagination, ya know? This is just… I dunno.”

  Mitch peers up from his screen long enough to admire her breasts, bouncing on the screen. He goes back to his touchscreen a second later.

  A bell rings out, exactly once. The girl on stage presses her finger to her ear, and nods. She scoops up her things, and races off the stage. Bidding didn’t break twenty thousand. I’ve already seen guys throw two hundred grand at women in white, tonight. None of those girls came out and tore off every stitch.

  To be fair, the women in black have gone for at least half a million, and those bids came from guys who have been here before; some of them several times. God knows what they get up to behind closed doors, but I bet they get their money’s worth.

  I didn’t come here with an agenda. I came here because I was bored, because Mitch said it would be fun, and I wanted to see what it’d be like to watch girls sell their virginity. I didn’t—

  A new girl comes on stage. I sit up a little straighter. God, but I always had a thing for brunettes. The screen over the stage reads ‘No. 24’. She gets out on the stage… and waits. She looks intimidated. Nervous. Even a little uncomfortable. The house goes quiet. Even Mitch notices when the sound drops out.

  “The fuck is going on?” he asks.

  “Shut up.”

  The girl is pretty, sure. She’s got a great figure. But I know nothing about her. I’d even say she doesn’t look like anything special, except for that look on her face. Hesitation. Awkwardness. Oh my god, I’m back in high school. I tap the button to place the first bid.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Aubrey

  The lights hit me. I’m shocked by how quiet it is. The girl before me went on and did a burlesque act. She had music playing and everything. Shoul
d I have chosen music? Oh god. They’re staring. They’re staring at me.

  I hear a single tap in my earpiece, indicating a bid. I swallow, and push my arms out of the cloak. It slips off my shoulders. I’m wearing a white corset underneath— the same outfit I wore in my photoshoot. My dresser made one last adjustment before I came on stage, he asked me to undo the ribbons, holding the bra together in front. I am extremely uncomfortable.

  They can tell. They can see me, breaking out in goosebumps all over at how much of my pale, pink skin is exposed. I hear the tap-tap-tap of bidding in my earpiece. I close my eyes, trying to pretend they’re not there. The tap-tap-tapping increases. The woman in red was right: they want me unsure of myself, feeling awkward, feeling exposed.

  I bite my lip, and take a breath. I tug the ribbon completely loose, and the bra slips off my skin. I cover myself up, as best I can. Ever since I hit puberty, I felt like my breasts were too big.

  I’m feeling a dizzy cocktail of regret, adrenaline, and ecstasy at being looked at. I look down. My nipple is peeking out just above my hand. I adjust my arms. I press my arms to my chest, and try to take calming breaths. My breasts rise and fall with each breath, and the tapping in my ear continues. Oh god. They like it. They like seeing me like this.

  I feel this swell of warmth inside me. It builds in seconds, between my hips. My nipples are hard. I break out in a blush, I can feel the blood rising in my cheeks. Oh god.

  I want this to be over. I want to go. The tapping is like rainfall now. The longer I stay out here, squirming a million miles outside my comfort zone, the more it continues. I can do this. I can do this. I came here to do this.

  I turn my back to the house. I unhook the corset, bit by bit. I feel cold air hit more and more of my skin. There are cameras straight out, and off to stage right and stage left. I try to keep myself covered as I do this, but it’s all but impossible.