Page 30 of The Wicked Virgin

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Nick

God, the little girl was so dirty. How the fuck had I gotten mixed up with the mink? Martin, a voice in my head warned, you’re in over your head.

Because what began as a game has become so much more. So fucking much more. Tammy’s coming to my office everyday now, showing up in the secret passage, sometimes arriving in nothing more than high heels and a big lipsticked smile, ready to do the dirty.

And do I stop her? Do I act like a responsible professional? Fuck no. I take what’s offered, devouring those big boobies, stroking that wet snatch, making her tremble and cream on the desk, the office couch, fuck even the floor of the bathroom.

And I admit, this isn’t the first time I’ve fucked one of my subordinates. I had a bad experience once before, a helluva shitpile that should have taught me a lesson but instead I’m still banging Tammy, making love to her again and again, the moaning, the creaming, like an addiction that I can’t shake.

So I berated myself in the privacy of my office, disgusted. What the fuck is wrong with you? I growled internally. Don’t you remember Jeanette? How can you not remember Jeanette? She sits outside your door everyday like a predator, fangs dripping, ready to draw blood, scratch your eyes out on a moment’s notice.

Because yeah, the bad experience was with my harpy of a secretary, which is so fucking ironic. The blonde’s not even my type, all stringy arms and legs, hips that jut out like glaciers, and flat as a pancake too. But it happened late one night, after a long conference call to Dubai.

“Mr. Martin, are you done in here?” came a sugary voice through my door, a discreet tap on the wood. Jeanette had just started then, it was her first week on the job.

“Yes, come in,” I called out. The remains of my dinner lay on a glass table in my office, crumbs everywhere, a discarded napkin on the floor. My new secretary probably wanted to go home and get some rest, it was late after all. So I expected her to waltz in, bus the plates, and then take off.

Except the blonde had a game plan. She edged open the door and threw herself into my office, quickly slamming the door even though no one was around this late.

I looked up, stupefied. What the fuck?

But the answer was obvious. Because Jeanette wore nothing but a body stocking, a transparent layer of hose that sheathed her from neck to ankle, except for three cut-outs. Oh yeah, both her boobs and her cunny were on display, the pink nipples jutting out like rocks, that shaved pussy oiled with something sugary and sickly sweet, like coconut or pineapple or some shit like that.

“Mr. Martin, I can help you relax,” she cooed as she minced forward, hips swaying. “You’ve had such a long day.”

Again, the blonde’s not my type at all. I’m not into Skeletor-looking chicks and this girlie was probably a hundred pounds max despite being six two in heels. So I growled, shaking my head vigorously.

But the girl couldn’t be dissuaded. She pranced over to me and plopped down in my lap, wiggling and jiggling, the sharp angles of her butt digging into my thighs.

“Mr. Martin, don’t you want some of this?” she asked, shaking her tits in my face, no, pressing them into my mouth so that my saliva actually got onto that body stocking.

“Fuck!” I roared, shoving her off, hacking as I tried to get the foul taste out of my mouth. “What the fuck is wrong with you? What the fuck are you thinking?”

The girl stumbled but recovered quickly.

“Nothing’s wrong,” she smiled sweetly, checking her cleavage, noting the saliva stain. “Nothing at all.”

“Then what the fuck is wrong with you?” I gestured furiously at her slutty outfit. God, she didn’t have the right figure at all, you need curves to fill out something so form-fitting and this bitch was like a straw broom.

“Nothing’s wrong with me, you’re the one who’s wrong,” she cooed.

I was silent. What the fuck was she talking about? If I wasn’t mistaken, I’d just been assaulted by a horny bitch.

But the blonde just smiled nastily then.

“Guess what I’ve got on my tit here?” she said, pointing to the fabric next to her breast. What the fuck did she mean? All I could see was soiled black lace, the nylon mesh sheer and racy, glistening a bit with my spit.

“You shoved that cloth in my face, you fucking slut,” I ground out. “What the fuck did you expect? I’ll dry clean that shit for you, just get out,” I spat disgustedly.

But the bitch wasn’t perturbed at all, instead smiling like an evil snake.

“No need for dry cleaning reimbursement,” she said. “I don’t need that as a job perk. What I need is a raise,” she said.

“What the fuck? Are you out of your mind?” I gasped, eyes bugging out. This shit was fucked up, the girl was smokin’ something and it wasn’t going well. “You just started this job last week.”

Jeanette smiled nastily again.

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