Sacking the Virgin

by Ryli Jordan

  I blush and my eyes fall to his own legs—but then I find myself staring at his dick again. And I can't seem to stop. I mean, I can't really blame myself. I've never actually seen a penis in person before, and this is…

  “So where are you from, Marissa the assistant press agent?” Ben asks, still smirking.

  “Huh?” I say, finally dragging my eyes away from his member for the second time.

  Ben's smile only gets wider at that. “I said, where are you from? Born and raised in Chicago, or…?”

  “Uh, yeah,” I say. “Born and raised. You?” Then, I mentally kick myself—because of course, I already know the answer to that question; I wouldn't be much of a press agent if I didn't even know basic information about every member of the team. “I mean, sorry, I know that you grew up in LA but then came to Chicago for college. I don't know why I asked that.”

  I mean, I did. I asked that because I was distracted, because he was still standing there all nonchalant and naked, and I felt like my brain was about to explode.

  “I have to get to HR,” I tell him—blurt out awkwardly, really.

  Ben raises an eyebrow at me. “Do I make you nervous?” he asks.

  I can't help but let my eyes dart down to his member one last time. “I, uh...”

  And he practically preens at that, taking a couple steps forwards, his hips swaying in a dangerously sexy way that I absolutely cannot allow myself to be turned on by. “Why don't I walk you to HR?” he suggests. “After all, it's your first day here, and it's a big building. I wouldn't want you to get lost before you're even officially working here!”

  I pale a little, not sure if I'm more worried about what HR will think if I walk in with a very naked Ben Price or if it's the thought of continuing to stand in the presence of a naked Ben Price for another few minutes.

  “I can find it myself,” I squeak nervously. “Mark gave me very clear directions.”

  Ben's face clouds a little at that, and I'm surprised that the rejection means so much to him. His reputation precedes him, and I know that he's slept with practically every eligible young lady in the entire city. And a bunch of other cities around the country as well, when they have away games.

  But then his face clears, and I wonder if I maybe was somehow imagining the previous look. His smile is back in place. “Well, I'm sure I'll be seeing you around, Marissa,” he said, holding out a hand to me.

  I shyly take his hand, blushing hotly as he brings it up to his lips and kisses the back of it. His lips are rough and slightly chapped, but they're warm and gentle, and I can't help wondering what they would feel like pressed against mine.

  “Stay out of trouble,” Ben says to me, winking. Then, he swaggers off down the hallway, leaving me staring—as I'm sure he planned—at his toned and tanned buttocks.

  I shake my head and make my way to HR, wondering if I'm really as ready for this job as I told Mark.

  Chapter Two — Ben

  I casually look around the strip club, still taking note of the pretty girls despite the fact that I already have the entertainment for the evening sorted out. Still, never hurts to look—and since my current fling is obscured by the table at the moment as she's sucking my cock discreetly, well. I can use all the eye-candy that I can get.

  I don't come here to Xanadu nearly enough, I decide. The place is nice—like what I'd imagine a middle-eastern harem to look like, with all different types of girls. And it's not like I don't have the money to splurge on their services.

  Plus, it's been a while since I engaged in anything this risqué, and I need this. I need the feeling of her lips around my length, of her wet heat surrounding me as she bobs her head, lightly sucking and then flicking her tongue against my slit.

  Her hand comes up to cover the rest of my prick, the part that her mouth doesn't quite reach—because even though she's very adept at swallowing down my length, I'm big when I'm hard, both in length as well as girth, and so I can't blame her for not quite being able to engulf me inside of her this way.

  But suddenly, just when she's getting into the rhythm of things, my agent Barry slips into the booth across from me. “We need to talk,” he says in a serious voice.

  I groan and still the woman's movements with a hand on the back of her head. Of course, I'm not about to stop her, I just need her to slow down a little, because the last thing I want is to waste a good orgasm because Barry is trying to have a conversation with me as the woman blows my brains out.

  “Barry, this is my personal time,” I remind him, even though I know he doesn't really need reminding. He's there now because it's my personal time, I'm sure. That means he wants to impress on me the severity of what he's saying.

  “It's about your contract,” Barry says. “As you know, we've been in negotiations over it—management and I. They're looking ahead to the draft, and you are blowing out most of their spending at the moment.”

  “They can't seriously be thinking of cutting my pay,” I say, aghast. “If they do, they know I can find another team in–“

  Barry cuts me off with a look, reminding me of where we are by looking around the club. “I wouldn't think that I would need to remind you that that sort of talk only hurts our chances of getting you higher pay,” he chastises me. “After all, to management, that's seen as a sign that you aren't loyal to the team. That you aren't committed to this franchise.”

  I shrug, sneering a little. “Well, that's the truth,” I tell him, not caring who might overhear me. We're in a strip club, after all. It's not like there are going to be press members lingering undercover somewhere. Especially not since my presence here is hardly a story; everyone already kind of knows what I do in my free time—and I'm proud of it.

  Barry gives me another warning look, though, so I decide to be gracious and drop it for the night. Maybe I can get him to leave so I can let the girl under the table finally finish me off. I have a pretty impressive stamina, but even that's beginning to wear down as she continues to lave at my throbbing cock, using her clever little tongue to find all my sensitive spots.

  I can't help a muffled groan from escaping my lips, and Barry gives me another type of look, one that I can't quite decipher. He begins drumming his fingers against the table in clear agitation.

  “If you would just clean up your act a little, it would be easy for us to get everything you wanted in a new contract,” he reminds me, as though he hasn't said that a thousand times before. Contracts are bullshit. Now Barry is really crushing my climax; I can’t come in her mouth while we’re talking shop.

  I pull the woman up by her hair, “Sweetheart, get me a few shots from the bar.” I turn back to Barry. “I'm not interested in cleaning up my act,” I say, slapping the whore on the ass as she leaves. He was always such a prude about these things… “As long as I'm posting numbers, management can't really say anything, can they?”

  It's not like there's any sort of ethics code or anything like that in my contract. Well, except that I'm not supposed to sleep around with coworkers, but it's not like any of them would ever tell on me if such a situation did actually happen.

  As Barry talks I think of that new girl, Marissa. God, she was hot and off limits—a perfect challenge for me. A good pair of legs on an attractive woman was definitely my Achilles heel. I would love to have her pressed up against a wall, with those legs wrapped around me as I pinned her there. Or maybe I would bend her over and take her from behind as she moaned against her desk. With legs like that, she was probably the perfect height—and I could tell she was flexible in the graceful way that she carried herself.

  My mind is filled suddenly with images of what she must look like while she's being fucked. I can imagine her with her long, brown hair falling in cascading waves down her back, looking totally blissed out and still keening her way through yet another orgasm—because from the way she was staring at my penis, I can tell that she needs it, and bad.

  I wonder how long it's been, how tight she must be. I'll have to be gentle with he
r, probe her first with my fingers—and maybe with my tongue—making sure that she's wet and wanting before I push my thick manhood inside of her…

  My dick hardens again just thinking about her, and for a moment, it doesn't matter that Barry's there or that just a moment ago, some nameless whore was under the table. I zip up my pants, actually surprised I’m thinking about Marissa.

  The whore comes back to the table with shots, and that's enough to bring me crashing back to reality. I smile at the woman, struck suddenly by her resemblance to Marissa. Must have been my subconscious trying to pick the best that I could get—for now, anyway.

  There was no way I was going to let the woman continue to work there without doing something for me along the way. She might think that Mark was her boss, but she would soon learn who was really calling the shots with the Chicago Kings.

  I hand the whore a hundred bucks and smile sweetly at her. “Thanks, darling,” I say. “Come back in ten, don’t keep me waiting.”

  The woman grins at me, pocketing the hundred, and nods, slinking away. Of course she'll come back; they always do. Anything to keep the great Ben Price happy. I laugh a little to myself.

  Barry raps his knuckles against the table. “Could you focus, please?” he asks, frustration in his voice.

  I sigh and look away from that playfully swinging ass and back to my agent's face. “What?” I ask a bit peevishly. “Look, Barry, I get that you've come here to ruin my night, the last thing I want to talk about at the minute is cleaning up my image or anything like that.”

  “You're not posting the numbers,” Barry tells me bluntly. “Sure, management might have no choice but to look the other way when you're posting numbers. And sure, maybe you don't need the Chicago Kings and could go somewhere else—when you're posting numbers. But in the last couple seasons, your numbers have dropped substantially, and this year, you're nowhere near the best quarterback in the league. So before you start talking about posting the numbers–“

  “Hey,” I interrupt heatedly, half-standing so that I can use my height against him. I'm incensed. He has no right to talk to me that way—and especially not since he, of all people, knows exactly how hard I've worked to stay fit and game-ready.

  “You know how hard I'm working,” I remind him. “It's been a difficult start to the season, sure, but not for any lack of trying on my part. We have a lot of young guys on the team—and a lot of new guys. It's going to take some time for us all to mesh and for our passes to start connecting out on the field. You know that.”

  “I know that,” Barry agrees. “And so does management. But on the other hand, you've never led the team to a Super bowl victory, and–“

  “That's bullshit,” I interrupt. “Football is a team sport, and we win or lose–“

  Barry slams his hand down on the table, causing a few people around us to look our way. “Damn it, Ben,” he hisses, standing up as well and leaning in close despite the table between us. “Listen to me for a second, would you? That's what you hire me for after all—remember?”

  “Go on,” I say sulkily, folding my arms across my chest.

  “Let me tell you how things look from management's side of things,” Barry says. “It doesn't look good. It looks like they're seeing you give more of your heart to those floozies on your web videos then you give to each game. It looks like you're exhausted out on the field—and guess what? Drinking and fucking aren't helping you look less tired. So they're starting to think that maybe at 28, you can't keep up the way that you used to. And yet you continue to choose drinking and fucking—so then they start to think that maybe, just maybe, they'd be able to find something better in someone younger, someone whose vices weren't consuming him.”

  I'm fuming, absolutely ready to blow—but I know from past arguments that fighting with Barry will get me absolutely nowhere good. Finally, I just turn around and walk out of Xanadu, not even bothering to say goodbye or to acknowledge that I'd heard him.

  Chapter Three — Marissa

  I know I shouldn't be doing this, but I can't help loading some of Ben's sex tapes that night while I'm home alone. I need to be prepared for this, I remind myself. As assistant press agent, there are going to be times when I need to do cleanup work when the team's reputation is at stake. And with Ben's bad-boy attitudes, he's definitely going to be at the crux of nearly every issue.

  His sex tapes are an open secret amongst the industry. He and some of his teammates had drunkenly decided one night to see how many of them could sleep with team groupies and post videos online of themselves in the act. And Ben, of course, being the wild person that he is, has already posted a dozen of them.

  I settle in to watch one of them, clicking at random because I honestly wouldn't even know the first thing about choosing pornography.

  It's a bit strange watching Ben sashay back to the bed and climb on top of a woman with blonde hair and startlingly blue eyes. But to be truthful, I'm not really noticing the woman that much. I'm too busy staring at the strong planes of Ben's shoulders, at the way all that bulk narrows into slim hips before rounding out into a firm behind. It's the same things that I saw back in the hallway at work, but there's something about seeing him in a sexual position that just…

  I can already feel my panties dampening a little, and suddenly I'm imagining that it's me there underneath him, that he's raking his teeth across my earlobe and sucking a line of kisses down my neck, while his fingers lightly tease my nipples into full erectness.

  I hurriedly pause the video, going upstairs into my bedroom and pulling the shoebox down out of the top of my closet. Inside is my one sex toy that I use when the lust gets to be a little too much. I got it when a friend of mine was hosting one of those girl night-in type party. There were all types of dildos, lubes, straps, and blindfolds at the party. I just got the rabbit vibrator because I didn’t have anyone to try out the other toys. I felt a little shy even then.

  The pink vibrator stimulated my clit—even though I have a feeling, from how desperate I already am, that it isn't going to take much before I'm falling over the edge into a very incredible orgasm.

  Armed with my toy, I go back down to the couch and take my pants off, sitting down wearing just my pink, cotton panties.

  I turn on the vibrator and start out just using it on the outside of my panties, watching as Ben's lips traversed the entirety of the woman's body. Then, he suddenly flips them around so that she's on top of him, and in one fluid motion, he has his cock buried fully inside of her.

  I groan and shove my panties off, desperate for that same feeling of relief that the girl must be having at that moment. I push the vibrator harder against my clit, going a little too fast, and I shudder at the speed. But I don't have the patience for that at the moment, not with the way Ben is groaning and thrusting his hips up into her. Anyway, I'm wet enough that it shouldn't really matter—and I'm getting slicker by the second thanks to the way Ben's eyes suddenly slip around until he is looking directly at me through the screen.

  I mewl softly as he continues to lock eyes with me, his mouth falling slightly open as though his pleasure is ratcheting up at the same rate that mine is.

  His thrusts are firm and practiced, and the woman cries out in time with them, her head falling back. But it's Ben that I'm focused on. I can tell that he's getting close to his own orgasm by the way his fingers clench against the woman's hips, by the way he licks his lips slowly and then squeezes his eyes shut for just the briefest of moments.

  “Come for me,” he growls, and that's my undoing. I can feel my pussy clenching around the vibrator—clenching and releasing, pulsing and wet. And suddenly, my entire body falls slack against the couch, stress eroding from places I hadn't even known existed. My eyes fall shut, and I lay like that, unable to move for a moment, listening as Ben gasps out what must be his own orgasm on the screen.

  And just like that, it's over. The video finishes and everything is silent in my house, except for the way I'm still trying to catch my breath
. It takes me a long moment to open my eyes again—even longer to blink away the after-images from the video.

  I feel totally fucked out, as though I haven't just brought myself off on my own. And god, I can only imagine the things that Ben might actually do to me, if I would only let him.

  But unfortunately, that can never happen; Mark and the guys in HR were extremely clear about that. One slip and it was grounds for immediate termination. I can't blame them, but it does make me wish…

  Well, that doesn't matter.

  I regretfully close out of the video and close the computer, heading upstairs to take a shower before I go to bed.

  Chapter Four — Ben

  When PR sends me Marissa's address and tells me to pick her up before my thing at the children's hospital, I roll my eyes. Of course they want her to be there so that the public can see that I'm not just another dumb jock; I actually give back to the community as well. And because she's new to the company, they want to make sure she has all the time she needs to ask whatever questions she might have—which is why I have to pick her up.

  I'm also not surprised to see that she lives in a pretty dumpy area on the outskirts of the city. She seems pretty young and inexperienced. I still can't believe she grew up in Chicago.

  When I pull up, she's waiting on the front step in jeans and a sweater. It's a good look for her, much better than the frumpy blouses and long skirts that I've seen her wearing to work all week. She jumps to her feet and bounces over to my Lamborghini, pulling open the door and sliding easily into the passenger seat.

  “Hey Ben,” she chirps, way too awake for it being ten in the morning.

  "Good morning, beautiful," I smiled. Her wide eyes did something to me and I couldn't resist glancing at her tight jeans accentuating her thighs and ass as she lowered herself into the car. She was the type of beauty that made a man open doors and bring flowers. I'll have to remember to open her door the next time. Definitely not a typical move for me, but I don't play by rules, not even mine. Changing the tempo and pace is exactly what I needed and what I think she needed too.