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 …
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.