Corrupting Chastity - Krista Wolf Page 0,1

frustration and took a deep breath, staring at myself in the dresser-mounted mirror. I was twenty-five. Twenty five! And still a virgin!

Fuck.

I might as well wait the extra five years, and become a sorceress. That was the old wives’ tale anyway. That if you made it to thirty without having sex, you somehow became a wizard. The whole thing would be funny if it weren’t so sad.

At least if I became a wizard I’d have cool spells.

Lexi and Donovan. Sierra and Eric. Me and… well…

Rolling over I slipped quickly into a pair of sweats and a T-shirt. I’d shower come morning. For now though…

For now I opened my laptop and clicked on the link I had bookmarked for over a month.

The images loaded quickly, having already been cached dozens of times before. Broad, massive shoulders. A gorgeous, immaculately-sculpted chest and arms, all covered in black-and-grey tattoos.

Mmmmmm….

And then that mouth, framed by a dark, sexy beard. Full, beautiful lips, set grimly above a strong, chiseled jawline.

The mouth I’d so often dreamt of kissing.

“Senan.”

I said the name aloud, tasting it for what it was. Strong. Sensual. Unique.

And of course, totally and completely made up.

“Whatever.”

The man on the screen could be mine, if I really wanted him. His contact info was right there. His email address, his Instagram handle. I’d gone down that rabbit hole before too, sifting through another three or four dozen photos of his hard, muscular body.

Yes, Senan could be all mine if I so desired. And that’s because I was on a greyhat site, and Senan was an escort.

A beautiful, flawless escort.

Already I could feel the heat rising in my belly. Clicking away reluctantly, I switched to the neighboring photo — another escort, also in my area.

Ander was every bit as hard as Senan, only a little leaner. He had lighter hair. A smile that could — and often did — melt the panties right down my thighs, to where I was kicking them off and letting them land on my bedroom floor.

What I did after that, well… that was all between me and them.

For a while I was opening my laptop two or three times a week to visit my fantasy boyfriends. Lately though, it was more. I’d scrolled through their photos almost every night this week. I’d read their little bios, parsing through their likes and dislikes, their rates and requirements.

I’d even come close to opening my own email program… and finally contacting them.

Imagine that?

Actually I could. I had the money, I had the time. And either of these men had exactly what I needed, whether I wanted to admit to it or not.

Losing my cherry to a male escort?

It had seemed laughable at first, but over the weeks the idea became more and more reasonable. I didn’t know these men, and they didn’t know me. That eliminated the social awkwardness. It took the edge off the fear of intimacy.

Even better there would be no embarrassing morning after. No nervousness that I might run into them, or work alongside them, or ever have to see them again. It would be a simple transaction: money for sex. Each party getting exactly what they wanted from the deal. Nothing more. Nothing less.

I swallowed hard, looking back at the screen. What the hell was stopping me? It wasn’t like I was ‘saving myself.’ I’d done just about everything else with a guy but have sex. When you looked at it that way, that one final step was little more than an annoying formality.

Senan…

I stared down at the screen again. The heat was all-consuming now, worse than ever.

Or Ander?

Images of Sierra and Eric flashed through my mind, their bodies twisting each other in the shadows of the bathroom. They’d been so into it. Even for the brief two seconds I’d witnessed before apologetically closing the door, it all seemed so unspeakably hot.

Pick one already.

Something inside me snapped loose. I recognized it instantly as the last ounce of my resolve, finally breaking away.

“Screw it.”

Reaching out, I grabbed a coin from the jar of loose change on my nighttable. Tossing it so high it almost scraped the ceiling, I let it land on my comforter and stared down at the result.

My stomach erupted in butterflies as I clicked on the contact email for Senan.

“Sorry Ander.”

Two

CHASTITY

I moved past Webster Hall, crossing Wentworth street and stepping into The Green. It was chilly but not cold. Last week’s snow was still frozen into crust-covered mounds, pushed to the sides of the criss-crossing paths in patterns that