Buying the Virgin

Chapter 68: The Girl Who Came Back - Chapter Twenty-Four

Meeting my eyes for a moment, Haswell riffles through his mail. Most of it, he tosses straight into his

outbox; standard fare that someone else will handle. He pauses at a large brown envelope, fat with

contents. He turns it over. There is no addressee, or any other marking, on either side.

He rips away the top of the package, pulling out a sheaf of papers. Turning it upside down, he shakes,

and something drops out: a flash drive.

He looks briefly through the papers, again, expressionless, then wordlessly, passes them across to me.

Swallowing hard, I look through them.

I know exactly what they are: the brochure and marketing for the auction, including my details and

photograph.

Staring at the floor, I take a deep breath. “Well, at least you’ve seen the worst of it.”

Haswell is silent and I look up. Is there a trace of sympathy in his eyes? “Perhaps…” he says.

He plugs the flash drive into the side of his laptop and swings it around so that we can both see it. It

flickers up into video. In shock, I stare at the screen.

It is a movie, of me, standing on a podium. I am dressed, with a black leather collar around my neck.

“Oh, God,” I say, not knowing what to do with myself. Haswell simply watches, saying nothing.

The view is framed by the heads and shoulders of people, clearly taken by someone sitting in the

audience. The auctioneer’s voice is clearly audible. And other voices.

“Raise your head. At these prices, I want to see what I’m getting.”

The ‘film me’ raises her head, chin tilted up, staring out, and looking as though she is going to burst into

tears.

The horrible movie plays on…. The auctioneer addresses me.

“Charlotte, it is entirely your choice, but are you willing to undress at this stage, on the podium? It will

almost certainly help you to bring a better price.”

“Undress now? All the way?”

“It’s up to you, Charlotte. No-one is going to make you. But the better they can see what they are

buying, the better your chances.”

It goes on and on, the bidding, the ever-mounting prices. At the end, the bang of the gavel, a leash

attached to my collar, being led away by the man who is now my Master.

Haswell reaches forward and clicks it off. “Clearly taken by someone using a mobile phone or similar.”

I sit, flaming with humiliation, speechless with mortification.

“Charlotte, why did you need the money? What was going on, that you were willing to endure that? And

what presumably followed?”

“I wanted to go to college, but the university fees….”

He cuts me off. “Fine. That’s all I need to know. Now…. James was your buyer?”

“Yes.”

“As that film closes, it shows you, naked, being passed to him… on a leash.”

“Yes.”

“What happened after that?”

My mouth is dry. I fight the words past my lips. “Mr Haswell. It must be obvious to you what…”

“Yes, yes. The purpose of the exercise is clear. My point is that a man who I was about to appoint as a

director on my board, paid a great deal of money to purchase, with no limits on his behaviour, a young

woman…”

He sits back, his face hardening, anger there. “Did James… abuse you?”

I suddenly realise the turn of his thoughts. “Oh no! No, please don’t think that. No, he… he was

wonderful. He was so kind and so gentle.” I blush. “Actually, I had a marvellous week.”

“You did?”

I feel I must stand up for my Master. “He told me… he told me, that he’d always had a fantasy about

making it good for a girl on her first time. And he did. I was so scared, and he made it… “

Haswell relaxes a little. “Alright, Charlotte. You understand that I need to ask you a little more about

this.”

I nod, swallowing hard.

“Are you still ‘contracted’ to James?”

Shake head.

“You are under no obligation to him?”

“No, after the week was up, I left and started at college, but I came back when I could. I wanted to see

him and Michael again.”

“Michael?”

“You saw him, at the Club.”

“The blond man?”

Nod.

“So, you met Michael during this week also?”

Nod head.

He stands, pours himself another coffee, offers me the jug. I accept, and again, gulp it down.

“So, you are telling me, quite clearly, that although he paid for, um, your services, during that initial

week, James treated you well, and you are with him now entirely because you choose to be?”

Nod head.

“Does he know you are here? Talking to me?”

Nod head.

He taps the console on his desk. “Francis, track down James Alexanders would you. Tell him I’d like a

word. I suspect he’s not far away.”

Haswell continues. “He sent you in here? To face me alone over this?” NôvelDrama.Org content.

“No. I insisted. He wouldn’t be in this position if he hadn’t tried to help me.”

In less than a minute, there is a sharp rap at the door.

“Come in, James,” says Haswell, without even looking away from me.

My Master strides in, looking down at me. “You okay?”

“Yes, Mas…. James.” He stands behind me, takes my hand, strokes my fingers.

A glint of humour creases Haswell’s eyes at my words, my stumble.

“Contrary to what you might imagine, Charlotte, I am not angry with you. It is in the nature of things that

young, beautiful women, tend to attach themselves to rich and powerful men. You would hardly be the

first to have done it by contract.”

For a moment he pauses, seeming to consider some other thing, then, “You did the right thing in

coming to me. I wouldn’t worry too much about the blackmail aspect. You have effectively disarmed him

by speaking with me.” He looks up at my Master, irritably. “James, will you stop hovering over her like a

protective hen. I’m not going to bite.”

My Master sits beside me.

“He may still do it anyway, spread it around, out of spite,” I say.

Haswell sniffs. “We may be able to do something about that. A man who behaves in that fashion

probably has other unpleasant secrets. We’ll start by trying to track down the other girl in the auction

that you mentioned. Do you know her name?”

“No, but I suppose the auction house would know.”

“They will,” says my Master. “It was in the contract that the auction house knew exactly the identities of

the girls and the buyers. Also, where the girls were taken afterwards. And, that they followed up, to

ensure the girls were safe.”

“They never followed up on me,” I say.

“They didn’t?”

Shake head.

“So,” continues Haswell, “as it happens, the Commissioner of Police is a friend of mine. We’ll start

there. As to you two….” he looks me in the eye, pointing at my Master. “You are telling me, here and

now, that although he ‘bought’ you, he did not abuse you? He treated you well? And that you are with

him because you wish to be? He has no hold over you other than…. the bonds of affection?”

“Yes, that is what I am telling you.”

“Very well, Charlotte. You may go, but don’t go too far. I may wish to speak with you again. James, you

stay.”

I go out to reception, try to read a magazine, but my head won’t take in the words. After about fifteen

minutes, there’s a buzz at the desk.

“Yes, Mr Haswell?” says Francis.

“Is Charlotte out there?”

“She’s right here.”

“Send her in, would you.”

I tap on the door.

“Come in, Charlotte.”

I sit, feeling uncomfortable. What has happened while I was out?

But my Master seems relaxed. As I look at him for reassurance, he droops an eyelid in half a wink,

before returning his attention to Haswell.