The Wicked Virgin

By: Cassandra Dee

But the girl didn’t notice, she was too caught up in her fun. Leaving her breasts for a moment, she pulled up her skirt, struggling to get it over thick thighs. And my mouth hung open at the sight of those legs because they were heavy, meaty, like ham hocks you can bite into deep, get a good mouthful of juicy flesh. She jiggled this way and that, struggling with the fabric, only to finally have it pop, sending a button flying. But the girl just wiggled her ass temptingly and scrunched the material around her waist before slyly dipping her fingers between her legs.

Moaning, she lightly rubbed herself through her panties, the lacy pink fabric dark with her fluids.

“Mmm,” she moaned. “Mmm.”

And I almost creamed at the beguiling sight. Because her panties were tight up against that cunt, the soaking material coating her lips making the outline of her labia visible. And as I watched, the girl gushed even more, her crotch positively dripping now, drenched with nectar.

But the girl wanted to take her time playing. Instead of going straight for her clit and rubbing one out, she pulled the fabric of her underwear taut so that it was a string bisecting her pussy libs, right up against her clit. And slowly, she pulled the material back and forth, rubbing that little bud with the wet fabric, rocking her hips slightly, enjoying the friction on her sensitive spot.

“Ummm,” she hummed, eyes still closed. “Ummm.”

But the brunette needed more than just a panty rub. Slowly my little vixen peeled off her underwear with delicate fingers, daintily stepping out of the soaked lace before dropping the cloth on the countertop. Oh god, what I wouldn’t give to have those panties on a lonely night, smelling them, sniffing them, flicking my tongue against the crotch.

But the girl wasn’t wasting any time. With her panties down, she lightly traced a finger over her labia, caressing those puffy lips, stroking her sensitive flesh. Her finger grazed her clit and the brunette moaned, the sensation shooting quivers straight to her fingertips and toes, making her wobble in the stiletto heels. And slowly, oh so slowly, she pulled her vagina lips apart to gaze at herself in the mirror. Oh god, oh god. I could see everything from my position at the door, everything was reflected in the big mirror, her pink channel steaming, the pulsing swollen flesh glazed and beautiful, her hole so tempting and small contrasted with her big clit, aroused and poking out stiffly.

And giggling slightly to herself, the brunette began playing with her nub. I watched as she rubbed gently with her finger at first, moving up and down, just slight caresses before rotating her wrist and beginning a circular motion. The pressure increased, her moans becoming louder as her finger went faster and faster. And I watched like a hungry dog as her other hand dipped lower, fingering her hole as she kept up the clit massage.

Suddenly she slipped her index in, just up to her first knuckle. The penetration must have been amazing because she cried out loudly, her breasts flushed, tossing her hair back as orgasm overcame the brunette. Her curls shook, shoulders heaving as electric shocks ran straight from her cunt all over her body even as her hands kept pleasuring herself, moving furiously at her crotch, the cream running wetly down her thigh, a long trail descending to a shapely calf.

And as the brunette calmed, her breathing becoming even again, her breasts rising heavily up and down in the mirror, I decided to make my move. Not losing a beat, I stepped fully into the restroom then, my big form dark, ominous in my suit, my expression bland despite the hard-on that was clearly visible.

“Care to do that again, little girl?” I asked. “Because it’s an order … from the boss.”



I shrieked when a deep voice interrupted my self-play. Oh my god, what was going on? My eyes popped open to see an enormous man, his face in shadows, standing not ten feet away from me in the women’s bathroom.

I screamed again, hastily pulling my skirt down, my fumbling fingers buttoning up my shirt. But it’s not so easy to get dressed when an intruder’s in the room and to my mortification, I tipped over, wobbly and off-balance in my high heels to land with an oomph on the bathroom floor. The air shot out of me with a gasp, I was like a fish gasping on the cold tile, breathless and stunned.

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