Virgin Wanted

By: Sierra Cole

But my mom wasn’t much better either. I mean, I don’t begrudge her for it. I know she did everything she could to look after me. But she was also fighting a losing battle with drink and drugs, and there were times when it really felt like I had to bring myself up – especially when she was with one of her horrible, violent ‘boyfriends’, the revolving door of guys who just seemed to like to hang out with her and get wasted, and sometimes worse ...

These days, I hardly ever see her; only a few times a year. You see, she just can’t look after me the way a mom should. I mean, if anything, I’m the one looking after her – making sure to wire her money every now and again, as much as I can afford from my tiny salary, and call in on her once in a while to make sure she’s doing okay.

So I guess you could say that something like this – a million freaking dollars – would go quite a long way to helping my mom out as well as me.

Damn, money like that could buy the both of us a totally brand new life. I could get her into a proper rehab program and I could afford to finally put myself through college with money left over. A lot of money.

And thinking about all that causes me to remember the contract again – that strange, formally-worded document that seemed to cover every single eventuality of our proposed week together.

The undersigned agrees to take a full medical exam to prove that her virginity is in tact ... (This I’ve already done; the car drove me to a private medical clinic a couple of hours ago, where a very discreet female doctor inspected my private parts, which was kind of weird and embarrassing to tell the truth ...)

The undersigned agrees to give Mr Whitelaw full access to her body and mind for the entirety of the week they are to spend together ...

The undersigned agrees to do everything within her power to satisfy Mr Whitelaw’s desires, however they might manifest themselves ...

Just then my thoughts are interrupted, as the car seems to pull off the main road and down a long private drive towards the strangest house I’ve ever laid eyes on: a startlingly sleek, modern building, an eye-catching mish mash of steel and concrete and glass and painted white brick, all hard, cold grey lines and sharp edges, but set away from the world in amongst the most amazing, sumptuously lush green countryside.

But there’s something kind of lonely about this house too, something empty even, and I wonder if that should tell me something about Marcus, too ...

Just then the car pulls to a stop right outside the front door, and Trent steps out to open my car door for me. I’m about to ask him what happens next, when I turn to see the main door to the house bursting open and a striking-looking older white woman, with grey hair scraped tight in a pony tail, dressed in a sharp black suit, come racing straight towards me.

“You must be the new girl? Very good, follow me,” she says, in a clipped English accent, her words tumbling out in such a rush I hardly have time to process what she’s saying before she’s turned and begun racing back towards the door to the house.

I shoot Trent a quick, puzzled catch you later smile and then follow her into the building, which is just as oddly masculine and lonely inside as it is outside.

I just about manage to keep up with this odd British woman as we practically race down what feels like a maze of bare white corridors, each more stark than the last, before all of a sudden I almost bump into her back as she stops outside a plain, gloss-black door.

She pushes it open, and gestures for me to step inside.

I look around me in amazement. I mean, this one single bedroom is bigger than my entire freaking apartment back in Philly.

“This will be your room for the week,” she explains in that clipped British accent. “I trust it’s to your liking? And if you need anything, Miss Adams, please don’t hesitate to call me – day or night.”

At this, she nods to the telephone set on the table next to the sumptuous double bed that’s just crying out to be jumped up and down on.

“You can reach me by dialing nine.”

Woah, I think. This is like some crazy five-star hotel ...

“I see you haven’t brought much luggage, so if you require any further fresh clothes and laundry,” she continues, stepping over to what looks like a blank white wall, “then you should hopefully be able to find everything you need in here ...”

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