The Wicked Virgin

By: Cassandra Dee



I strode through the basement of the luxury office building, my long legs eating up the hall. It was deserted, the hum of machines vibrating, the clank of an elevator switching into gear. But a low moan reached my ears before sliding into a high-pitched whine, punctuated by a breathy, muted gasp. What the fuck?

My steps slowed until I was standing in front of the women’s restroom. Another gasp rang out, followed by a shriek and then a full-on scream of ecstasy, the walls of the restroom turning the place into an echo chamber. By now my dick was ramrod straight and I pushed the door open, sure I was going to catch some couple in flagrante, fucking each other up against the wall.

But instead there was only one woman in the restroom. Or a girl, more accurately, with her skirt hitched up, panties discarded, one heel high up on the counter so that her bare snatch glistened under the restroom lights. God, I’d never seen such a beautiful cunt before. It was pink, puffy, running wetly, cream trailing down her thighs all the way to her ankle, a wet spot pooling on the tile.

And the girl was playing with herself.

One hand held her snatch open so that her clit was on view, the hard nub pulsing, throbbing with pleasure as she traced a delicate finger in circles around the bud. Her snatch jerked again and more cream worked itself out, spilling wetly from her hole.

But the brunette just kept teasing, moaning deep in her throat, throwing her head back with no idea that she had a witness. Her big boobs heaved and swayed as she continued to finger, this time hitching the skirt up even higher so that her ass was bared.

And I watched, dick on fire, as her other hand circled in back to her butt, tickling her cheeks, wandering into that deep crack, a musty crevice that I could smell even from my position by the door. I took a deep breath, there’s nothing like the scent of mixed pussy cream and back hole, I fucking love it and my dick was about to explode from the excitement.

And the brunette didn’t let me down. As her finger in front played with her hole, a finger in back touched her little pucker, her anus contracting sharply with shock.

“Ohhhh,” she moaned, her head lolling on her shoulders, lips parted. “Ohhhh.”

But the girl kept going, dipping her fingers into her rear end and twat, sampling both places at once, letting her wet flesh grip the soft penetration, lightly brushing, teasing herself.

But this was no innocent. Like a whore, she threw her head back and screamed lustily, her pussy and ass twitching and jerking as orgasm surged, boobs swaying this way and that, nipples hard, cunt ejecting pussy cream as she came over and over again.

I watched, mesmerized, as she fucked herself, that pussy spasming, her finger caught in a volcano as her ass clenched as if possessed, another digit trapped in molten fire.

And when it was over, my dirty little girl let out a long wail, her moans loud enough to shake my eardrums, resonating in the public restroom.

But public be damned. I own this building and I’d just seen something I wanted on premises.

So I made my move then, the door snicking shut behind me.

“I’m Nick Martin, CEO of Luxor,” I growled, pulling out my stiff shaft, the head dripping wetly onto the cold tile. “You must work for me. You are …?”

The girl gasped then, cheeks flushing as she spun to face me, curls flying, cunt still slickly wet. But it was too late because as my employee the brunette was about to get a new responsibility added to her job description. And I was going to teach her every step of the way …



Have you ever been wicked?

Just a teensie weensie little bit wicked?

And did it feel good?

This is the story of how I went from innocent intern to … well, something a lot less innocent.

The day began as usual. My alarm went off at 5 a.m. and I rolled out of bed, groaning. But I couldn’t afford not to get up. Literally, I couldn’t afford it because it’s my job at Luxor Corporation that pays my rent, my tuition, my clothes, food, books, everything.

So I struggled out of the sheets and reached for clothes I’d set out the night before. Hopping up and down a bit, I yanked the pencil skirt over my hips, grunting slightly, aghast at the tight fit. When had it gotten so small? Had the dry cleaners ruined my favorite little black number? Damn it, tears filled my eyes because I had no money and the skirt would be expensive to replace.

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