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, “bec
ause 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.
And the thought made me shiver in my desk chair, my body on high once more. There were no men in sight, heck, there were no other people even in the basement. And so I turned to the next best option … a sex toy rumbling against my cunt, making me scream with pleasure.
CHAPTER THREE
Tammy
Slowly, I got out the key to my secret drawer, slipping it into the lock with a snick. The drawer rolled open on its own, hissing on the metal wheels, and a shiver ran through my body at the contents.
Because I’ve been keeping a drawer full of sex toys at work. It’s crazy, I know. Like I mentioned, I’ve been wicked, very, very wicked, and this went beyond the pale, beyond my wildest dreams. I’d been so embarrassed when I bought my first one … and now I was keeping a stash at the office.
I remembered my first time in a sex shop. I was mortified to be standing in the Pink Cherry at midnight, perusing the section called “Female Fun.” But things were getting desperate. Not only was I a virgin, but I had no conceivable romantic life to speak of and my body was dying for a man’s touch, to explore the secret unknown, to explode somehow, somewhere, with a man’s help.
Except that there was no one with a Y chromosome in sight. So I’d taken myself to the Pink Cherry to browse in a grey sweatshirt, the hood up, trying to conceal my identity. Although it wasn’t possible, not really. The sex shop was brightly lit, more like a food emporium than a seedy den, and it was decorated with all sorts of bright pink banners and signs saying “His Pleasure,” “Her Pleasure,” helpful tidbits like that. It actually felt like a normal store, I could almost pretend I was grocery shopping or browsing for books.
But I was still embarrassed and when a friendly associate accosted me, I tried to shrink into myself, to disappear. No such luck.
“Hi, I’m Marie,” she chirped. “Anything I can help you find?”
“Um … um … what is that?” I said, gesturing vaguely to my right. I was too embarrassed to even pick up any of toys, my shyness overwhelming. But the clerk was really nice, a clean-cut blonde about my age with glasses and a friendly smile.
“Oh that!” she said merrily. “That’s a pocket rocket, perfect for a woman’s pleasure. You put this part on you,” she said, picking up the toy, “and then flick this little switch, and ta-da! Feels like heaven!”
I flushed again but was intrigued. Reaching out a tentative hand, I took the rocket from her and closed my palm around it, feeling its weight, its heft, the soft, sculpted rubber.
“And see, you can turn up the speed,” added Marie helpfully as her finger twitched on the controls. And just like that the pocket rocket went from a gentle hum to throbbing vibrations. Holy cow! That would feel amazing against my pussy and with a flaming red face, I mumbled, “I’ll take it.”
“Sure!” chirped Marie cheerfully. “Anything else? Let me ring this up for you.”
And just like that, it was done. Marie packed up my purchase in a brown paper bag, logo-less, totally discreet, and I hid it in my book bag, eager to get home and try it out.
And it was pure heaven. I loved it, coming on my own over and over again, moaning, squealing and gasping as I played with the controls, rubbing my clit with the little vibrator. But that experience lit a fire in me, opened up a yawning chasm and I found myself back at the Pink Cherry again and again, becoming friendly with Marie.
“How about this one?” the sales associate asked, holding up a glass shaft. Oh my god, it was so big, so commanding, and I’d never be able to use it, I was a virgin still and too scared to pop my own cherry. But I nodded wordlessly and the glass rod joined my growing collection, ten and then twenty sex toys, at my disposal for lonely nights at home.
It’s just that I’m rarely at home now. I work so much and then go to school, only dropping into bed at eleven p.m., dead tired from the combination of work, school, and commute. So I’ve moved most of my toy collection from home to work. Sitting alone in the basement of Luxor Corp. with nothing to do and no one around, I figure I’m not hurting anyone and no one will ever know. It’s my wicked little secret and the toys have provided me with some much-needed entertainment and relief. I use the Women’s Restroom a couple times a day now, exploring myself, playing with myself, and it’s been amazing. The hours go so much faster and I’m able to concentrate on my chemistry homework after it’s done, the orgasms clearing my mind, my body relaxed and sated.
And now, after Barry’s disgusting interlude in the bus, I found myself curiously horny. Oh no, it wasn’t the thought of Barry, no way. It was the thought of sex with a handsome man, his hands touching me, stroking my folds, making me wet, and letting me touch him in return. And oh god … but I was hungry.
CHAPTER FOUR
Nick
It’s another day at Luxor Corp. Or, to be more precise, another busy, jam-packed day managing my real estate empire. I’m a mogul on par with none other in New York City, at the helm of a company that has controlling
stakes in the Empire State Building, Madison Square Garden, and countless office buildings all over Manhattan. Construction and development, not to mention building management, is my forte and at the grand old age of forty-five I’m literally worth billions, my portfolio is enough to make a lesser man gasp and go green with envy.
But it’s not like the money makes itself. I’m still up at 6 a.m. every morning working like a madman, whether going over spreadsheets, reviewing proposals, or touring the buildings themselves.
That’s right, even though I’ve got thousands of people working for me, there’s nothing like walking the site itself, evaluating the construction, the maintenance, making sure the crews are using the right screws, the right type of window frames, keeping everything gleaming and in tip-top shape. Because when they know the boss is going to do a random drop-in, they’re on their toes and do a better job. I’m not just an invisible figure at the top, I’m the man himself come to life, with encyclopedic knowledge of this industry and a sharp eye that can pick up the smallest details, nothing gets by me.
So this morning I headed over to 666 Madison Ave., a new office tower that I’d acquired a couple months ago. Seeing that it was 6:30 a.m., no one in my entourage was with me, I’d be walking the halls alone. Pulling the Maserati into the garage, I slid slowly, smoothly into my appointed parking space. Even in crowded Manhattan, there was always a spot for the boss, just one of the perks of being me.
I clicked my badge at the back entrance and made my way into the sub-basement. This is how I like to do it sometimes. If you give them notice that you’re coming, they prep everything in advance, scrubbing and buffing, making sure everything gleams. But if you do a surprise visit, then you see how things really are, what the average person sees.
The Billionaire's Kitten: A Fake Marriage Romance Page 16
