We bought her on Bond Street. There was a little shop, above a haberdashery, with a large plate glass window with gold foil lettering on it, where they have a book full of people who want to be sold.
The counter person was quite dashing in their three piece suit. They had the dazzling androgyny of a young Bowie or Tilda Swinton.
They explained that there had been talk of doing away with the book, which was a thick leather bound affair with photographs and typed up bios taped into the pages perfectly, like some rather obscene scrapbook.
“The owner says an iPad could allow for short videos and the such, but I just won’t have it. This old book has been around for generations and they won’t get rid of it on my watch.”
Some of the pictures were profession grade on slick glossy paper, well lit, and artfully posed. Frankly, I liked the charm of the Polaroid type photos, with flash blowing out eyes and cunts just little pink or brown blurs.
As long as you were a member of the Order in good standing and your references checked out, you could purchase anyone. Well, lease was a better term. You got to take them home for a set period. A few weeks, a month, a year.
You had to feed them, of course, and house them; bring them in for checkups. But for a while, they were all yours.
I looked at each picture carefully, reading the bios. My wife, Cynthia, was far less delicate. She flipped through the pages quickly until she saw a pretty somewhat slight woman with a short pixie cut and huge lips. The woman was nude, with bright red lipstick amplifying her pert mouth.
“Oh. Oh my. I want that one,” she said, pointing to the picture as if pointing at a stuffed animal over a carnival game table.
I read the bio. To be honest, I felt a little silly and somewhat vanilla, there with my wife, picking out a young woman for us to play with. It was all so cliche. Renting a unicorn. Still, it was what we wanted and desire trumped any need I felt to be avant garde.
She was a graduate student, well traveled, a nanny, an intern, taking a year off. “Enjoys serving couples, being objectified, being hurt, being used, then being taken care of.”
Sounded perfect. We looked through the rest of the book, but our minds were made up. We put in the formal request that day.
I noticed there were no names. There were only code numbers, but you were encouraged to call your property whatever you wanted or nothing at all.
There were awkward moments back at home while we waited. The excitement was palpable, but we were aware of the awkwardness, jealousy, and complex emotions that would invariably come with this addition to our household.
“Should we have a schedule? Certain days we can each have her to ourselves?” Cynthia asked as we made dinner.
I shrugged. I didn’t know the answer.
That night in bed she was her usual wiggling little spoon against me.
“I want to watch you fuck her, but it makes me scared too. You’re not allowed to like her more than me,” she whispered.
We took possession a little less than two weeks later. There was a lot of paperwork. In the end, it cost about as much as a decent car to have her for six months.
In person, she was stiffer than I imagined. More formal. I wondered if she was raised wealthy.
She stood very tall, even though she was shorter than my wife’s 5’6”. In person, those lips were far more seductive than I could have imagined though, as was her ass. She had a somewhat thin waist. Thinner than I would have wanted, but my wife liked it. I like voluptuous women. The girl wasn’t particularly buxom or thick thighed, but her ass made up for it. It was a glorious ass.
We picked her up from the airport in a big black SUV. The driver kept his eyes on the road as we sat on each side of her. Cynthia was all at once maternal and predatory, fixing her clothes, telling her to sit up straight.
I wanted to kiss her very much. It was ridiculous to feel high school anxiety as I sat next to this person who willingly called herself my property.
When we got her home I told her to shower and ready herself for inspection.
An hour later, after a whispered argument with a giggling Cynthia over who got to do what first, we met the girl in her little guest room.
She sat cross legged on her bed, back straight, face somewhat serious, hands folded in her lap.
My Cynthia was laughing nervously. She asked me what we should do. How do we start?
“Stand up,” I said, trying to keep my voice strong, commanding.
The girl stood.
My mind was racing.
“Turn and bend over, present your cunt for inspection,” I said with confidence building in my voice.
Cynthia clutched my arm.
The girl did as she was told. Turned and bent, graceful back arching, beautiful ass in the air, legs parted.
Her head was on the bed, buried in the sheets.
Her pussy was a lurid pink. A hole hooded with small splayed lips, neat, slightly asymmetrical, and flanged like the petals of an orchid.
From the angle she was positioned, her asshole was just above her cunt. Another pink hole that was now ours. It filled me with a power I hadn’t imagined.
Even when my beautiful Cynthia gave herself to me, we were still equals, we played at master and slave but this was different. This was property.
I knelt down and put my hands on her thighs, looking closely at her pussy in a way one could rarely look at someone else’s body. Unobscured, unrushed, uninhibited.
“I like it, it’s pretty,” Cynthia whispered to me, kneeling next to me.
“Kiss it,” I told her.
“Kiss it for me, Cyn,” I asked sweetly.
I sat on the bed as my wife tasted our pet for the first time.
I moved back, to where the girl leaned over the mattress. I looked into her big eyes. She bit her lip as my wife went down on her, then she looked me in the eye for the first time.
“Are you mine?” I asked in a whisper.
“Yes, sir,” she whispered back.
It felt like a secret. It was all very complicated.
“Kiss me. Impress me,” I said.
She gave me the littlest nod and leaned over, her lips brushing mine at first, teasingly, their softness in that momentary contact already making me groan.
Then the descent into our first kiss. The warmth and sweetness of her lips, the fresh clean smell of her skin and her hair, and the way her breath caught as she kissed me and my wife’s finger slid into the cunt that was all ours.
Many things happened, but few were as perfect as that first moment when I fully understood that she was all ours.