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 …
CHAPTER ONE
Tammy
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.
But in the back of my mind, I knew the truth. It wasn’t the dry cleaners, it’s me. I’m a curvy girl, the kind with generous boobs, wide hips, and a round, juicy ass. I’ve always been bigger, so to say, and it’s always a challenge to find clothes, especially work clothes that fit my Jessica Rabbit proportions.
So sighing, I shook my head, there wasn’t much I could do about it right now. Making sure I looked presentable with one last desperate tug at my skirt, a little shimmy of my hips, I grabbed my bag and raced out the door. The 301 bus comes only once an hour, so if I wanted to make my ride it’d be a hustle. It’s a solid hour commute each way and I planned on doing a little reading on the ride, maybe try to study up on organic chemistry.
Because in addition to my full time job, I’m also a student at Hudson University. It’s a tough load to juggle but I don’t really have a choice. In fact, I’m only in college thanks to a wonderful guidance counselor, Ms. Lincoln, who encouraged me to apply, told me I had the grades and grit to make it. So with a trembling hand, I’d filled out the zillion forms, not expecting much, and was genuinely surprised when a fat envelope arrived in the mail.
Tearing open the FedEx package, I’d gasped and colored, suffused with happiness. They liked me! I was in! A letter from the Dean himself stating, “Hudson University is happy to offer you admission …”
But that’s when the fairy tale ended. Because right behind the admission letter was my financial aid offer, and my eyes immediately started welling up when I saw the number. Had they missed a zero? Or maybe there was a typo, this couldn’t be right. But there’d been no mistake, it was my name and social security number at the top. Hudson was “pleased” to offer me five thousand dollars of grant money per year, renewable for four years.
But that was the problem. Five thousand was a pittance, a mere drop in the bucket. Tuition is FIFTY-five thousand per year. So by the end of year four, I’d be two hundred thousand dollars in the hole if and when I graduated.
But Ms. Lincoln hadn’t been wrong when she said I was full of grit and determination. I put a resume up on Monster and started applying furiously, throwing myself at any and every job although at seventeen, I didn’t have much experience except for a past stint flipping burgers and some random babysitting gigs.
But the stars aligned in my favor and I was called in for an interview with Luxor Corporation, a real estate conglomerate in Midtown. It’s owner and CEO is Nick Martin, billionaire playboy and handsome as fuck man about town, in the news as often for his latest female conquest as his most recent business acquisition. But that had nothing to do with me. I’d applied for a low-level role, just one step up from intern, I’d never see the top dog himself.
And when I got the position, it never occurred to me that I’d have occasion to meet Mr. Martin. In fact, in the three months I’ve been here, I still don’t know where he sits, what he does, or even caught a glimpse of the man. I’d love to, sure, just to see if Nick Martin’s as hot as he looks in the papers, but unfortunately billionaire CEOs don’t come by the basement very often, Mr. Martin’s probably in a glass penthouse in the sky, about as far from me as you can get.
Because yeah, I sit underground now, in the sub-basement really. I used to have a desk on the third floor with a bunch of other marketing folks but when my boss got into a motorcycle accident, stuck in the hospital indefinitely, HR moved me down here.
It’s a terrible location. I’m right next to the boiler, so it’s really hot and I often have to undo the top two buttons on my blouse just to cool down a bit. Plus, there’s no one else around. I’m literally alone down here, in a tiny little office with no windows, the hallway outside silent, floors polished, only the occasional whine of building machinery coming on with a heavy metallic creak.
And so I’ve been coming to work each day, letting myself in, wandering the halls by myself. At first, I tried my best to hold down the fort without my boss, to be his representative, but it didn’t really work. When clients realized that an eighteen year-old girl was now the only person in Interactive Marketing, they slowly disappeared, finding other outlets, other resources to handle their needs. So now I sit at my desk and read the Employee Handbook, peruse random marketing texts trying to teach myself the ins and outs of this job. But it’s impossible to fill eight hours a day and most of the time I’m on my own.
And I’ve become really wicked.
There’s a women’s restroom down the hall from me, and I’ve been using it for fun times. It’s my guilty little secret. I’ve got a locked drawer of sex toys in my desk and I take them with me to the women’s restroom for a small pick me up a couple times a day now. It’s so delicious, tremors running up and down my spine, my little cunt flexing and creaming, and the hours go by so much faster now. Did I say I was a good girl? Well I’m not … I’m bad.
CHAPTER TWO
Tammy
The bus ride to work this morning had been tough. Instead of getting to study, I’d been subjected to a number of different trials and tribulations. First, there’d been the bus itself. I don’t know what happened but the Midtown Express today was especially creaky, its shocks worn-down and aged, and it seemed like every pothole was a giant indentation in the road, jouncing us up and down, making all the passengers bobble. It was so bad that I was even a little car sick in my seat in the back, my stomach queasy, slushing around, a headache coming on.
So I got up and moved all my stuff to the front of the bus. Sometimes it’s better to ride closer to the
engine, there’s less swaying and swift jerky turns that way. Except the only seat I could get was next to a middle-aged man, a guy who looked okay at first but immediately started chatting me up when I sat down.
“Hey, what’re you reading?” he asked.
I looked up politely. That was a common enough question, nothing odd.
“Organic chemistry,” I replied. “It’s tough but I think I’m getting the hang of it.”
“Oh really?” he asked. “What are you studying for? I’m a pharmaceutical sales rep, I know some of this stuff,” he said with a wink.
I was immediately on alert. Even though I’m just starting out in the medical realm, I’d heard so much about Big Pharma and their unscrupulous ways that my defensive shields shot up.
“I’d like to be a nurse,” I said slowly. “I’m a student at Hudson University downtown, I’m hoping to get my B.S. in Nursing in a couple years.”
“Oh great!” he replied, “My sister got her B.A. from Hudson too. Nursing you said? I think Kristen was Creative Writing, but she really enjoyed her time at Hudson.”
“Oh me too,” I said, smiling a little now. “I love the school, I just wish I got to participate more.”
“What do you mean?” the middle-aged man asked, taking in my work outfit, the skirt and blouse neatly tucked in. “Aren’t you going to classes? Or is this get up for a part-time job?”
I looked down at my corporate gear, so different from the casual jeans a student might wear.
“Yeah, I have a full-time job in addition to my classes,” I admitted ruefully. “I work during the day and take mostly evening classes so I feel like I’m not really a part of the Hudson community. Most events happen during the day, the club meetings, the rallies, all the good stuff, but by the time I get home at night, I’m so tired that it’s impossible to drag myself out again. Not that I have any time anyways,” I said a little wistfully. “Between work and classes, I’m completely booked.”
The man looked at me skeptically again.
“Really, no time whatsoever? That’s a hard path for a little lady like you.”
And I colored slightly.
“It’s not that bad,” I replied firmly, straightening my shoulders, holding my chin up. “I’m lucky to have the chance to go to college, I just didn’t want to take out a ton of loans so I decided to work full-time while taking classes.”
And the man nodded thoughtfully.
“I know what you mean,” he said slowly. “I’ve got thousands of dollars in student debt, I’m still paying for it even though I’m forty,” he said with a wry grin. “Can you believe it? There’s something seriously wrong with the American education system.”
“I totally agree,” I said, shooting him my first real smile. “I just don’t want to have a mountain of debt after I graduate because entry-level nurses don’t make much, and I can’t afford to be paying student loans on top of rent and bills,” I said. “It would be overwhelming, I’d probably forget something and disaster would strike.”
“Well, maybe I could help you,” he said slowly. “You’re on this bus every morning right?”
I nodded. You often recognize your fellow travelers even though people never talk. It’s part of having a long commute each day, the faces become familiar even if you don’t know their names.
“I’ve seen you,” he said, lowering his voice, “and I like the way you carry yourself, you’re a beautiful girl with a good set of smarts. Maybe we could work out a deal.”
I was immediately suspicious. What did my looks have anything to do with anything? My brows immediately lowered but the man didn’t notice and pressed on.
“I’m a successful guy, I’ve got means,” he said meaningfully, lowering his voice to a whisper, “and you’re a little lady who needs some help.”
That only made things worse.
“Right, but we don’t know each other,” I said pointedly. “What can I do for you?”
And he tossed his head back and laughed.
“Oh you’re a smart one, aren’t you? I was thinking along the lines of a set-up that would benefit us both. Horizontal working,” he intimated with a sly smile.
What the fuck was horizontal working? I was nonplussed.
“And that would be …?” I asked, eyebrows raised, the question lingering in the air. But the guy just leaned in even closer.
“Something comfortable for both of us, something where I’d get what I need and you’d get what you need.”
By now, I was exhausted and no longer wanted to play games. It was too early to beat around the bush and I had chemistry to get back to.
“No thanks,” I said, turning back to my textbook. “I’ve already got a job.”
“Well, I think I can do better than what you’ve got,” he said, still pressing his case. “You’re on the bus every morning, working full time while going to school and I can make things a little easier for you. How about five hundred a pop?”
I closed my book then, turning to look at him straight in the eye.
“But for what?” I asked, shaking my head, bewildered still. “Do you need an assistant with you on sales calls? Someone to carry your suitcase, lug around the medical samples? I’m happy to consider it, but you need to be more specific.”
And that’s when the stranger threw back his head and laughed, the raucous sound ringing out in the silent bus, causing a few of our fellow passengers to glare our way.
“No, I don’t need help with sales, I want to go on a date with you,” he clarified, his voice still lowered. “Five hundred a pop.”
I sat back, perplexed. Why would he pay for a date? I was confused. Sure, the guy on a date usually picks up expenses like the dinner bill, flowers, the movie tickets, but it sounded like something else was going on. Plus, five hundred dollars was a lot to spend. I’d been on a couple dates and the boys had spent thirty bucks max, taking me out to places like Pizza Shack and Burgers a Go Go.
“I don’t get it,” I said. “Why would you pay me to go on a date with you?”
And here, the man shot me a glance.
“You really are naïve aren’t you?”
I flushed at that one because he’d hit close to home. The fact is that even though I’m eighteen with a bodacious bod I’m really, really inexperienced when it comes to men. I’ve only been out a couple times with some gangly teenage boys, and hadn’t even done that in the past few months. With my impossible schedule, there was no way to meet up with anyone for anything, much less something as frivolous as a date. I figured I’d wait until I graduated, until I had a normal schedule, to get my romantic life going.
But that wasn’t for the middle-aged man to know and I wasn’t going to let on.
“I’m young,” I said stiffly, “but I’m not clueless.”
“Yes, you are,” he corrected gently, “because I’m paying you to come to a hotel room with me. Get it? We’ll have the type of date where there’s no food, no drink, no conversation. Just some horizontal action with our clothes off, my dick buried in your cunt.”
And that’s when my cheeks flamed. I realized what a dunce I was, how stupid I’d been. When I’d sat down next to the man, I’d seen the gleam of a gold band on his left index finger and immediately assumed that he was a married man, that his intentions were honorable.
“But … but you’re married,” I gasped, horrified, forgetting to keep my voice down. Looking around, I was mortified. Oh my god, I was being propositioned at 6 a.m. on the Midtown Express by a married man. Oh god, oh god.
But the dude just laughed.
“So what? Yeah, I’m married and I have three kids too. Doesn’t mean that you and I can’t get it on,” he said, waggling his eyebrows.
But now I was just completely disgusted. It’s not that I think people are angels, I’d just never had this happen to me, never had a married man proposition me, openly offer me money for sex.
Immediately, I started stuffing things back into my bag, shoving papers hurriedly, not caring
if they were crumpled. Without wasting a second, I jumped up and ran to the back of the bus.
“Excuse me, excuse me,” I huffed as I made my way down the aisle, losing my balance a couple times, clipping people’s knees, almost knocking over one woman’s laptop. But fortunately, my old seat was still open and I collapsed into it with a relieved sigh, not caring how I landed. Better to be carsick than have to sit next to that sleazy dude for one more second.
But once the ride ended, he was waiting for me on the sidewalk outside the bus as the sun dawned in Manhattan, our fellow passengers streaming around us.
“If you change your mind, let me know,” he smirked, briefcase in hand. God, he really was a smarmy bastard with the greasy hair and cheesy pin-striped suit. “I’m Barry,” he added with a knowing smile and quick pat on my butt. “See ya tomorrow, little lady.”
And I turned and ran to work, flying those last few blocks, my feet pounding the pavement, footsteps heavy, not caring if anyone saw. I just wanted to get away, get away from this nightmare. With a relieved sigh, I let myself into Luxor Corp., taking a deep breath once the massive door closed after me. The silence was deafening, the whir of the machines a soothing hum and I’d never been so happy to be alone, to catch my breath and calm down.
Gratefully, I settled myself at my computer, making a cup of instant coffee, trying to calm down. But my concentration was lost, I couldn’t focus, the numbers of the screen blurring in front of me, melting into dizzy figures. Because the proposition had tickled my fancy. Heck no, I didn’t want to be Barry’s convenient hook-up, his paid-for easy lay. The middle-aged man was way too gross, his skin slicked with oil, out of shape with a significant paunch. It was more the fantasy of sex that beckoned. Yes, I was lusting for a man. A handsome man, one commanding and alpha who’d take my nubile body with expert hands and a big dick, make me sigh, scream and moan with ecstasy.
Buck Me Cowboy: A Secret Baby Romance Page 29
