The Wicked Virgin

By: Cassandra Dee

“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.



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.

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