Virgin Wanted
By: Sierra ColeI lean in further towards the screen, feeling that all too familiar rush of blood – heading straight for my cock, which is already swelling and pressing painfully against the unforgivingly tight tailored suit of my pant leg.
Yes.
I think I’ve finally found her.
I think I’ve finally found my something special ...
§
From: [email protected]
Hello Alisha,
Good to hear from you. I’d like to arrange an appointment. I want you to meet me at Friday at 5pm, at my office in New York. Please email me your cellphone number and I’ll have my assistant set it all up.
Marcus Whitelaw
§
From: [email protected]
I’m sorry. I must have made an error.
You see, I saw this advert in the local paper here in Point Breeze, Philadelphia, where I live, and I definitely can’t afford a plane ticket to New York just to make a single interview. So for that reason, I’m afraid I will have to respectfully decline. Sorry to have wasted your time, Mr Whitelaw.
Yours sincerely,
Alisha Adams
§
From: [email protected]
Don’t worry, Alisha. Perhaps I wasn’t clear enough in my last email. My assistant will be in touch to arrange everything for you – including all flights, cars, and any accommodation you may require, all of which will be paid for by my company. You wont’ have to spend a cent. And I promise that if this works out, it will be very worth your while.
I look forward to meeting you on Friday. Don’t disappoint me.
Marcus
Alisha
I hope I haven’t made a huge mistake.
Oh well, even if this meeting doesn’t work out and he turns out to be some sleazy horrible creep, I reassure myself, then at least I’ve gotten a free holiday out of it, right?
You see, this is the first time I’ve ever been to New York, and even just form the brief flashes of it I’ve seen so far, it’s everything I imagined it would be and more. It’s like being inside a film set: yellow cabs, honking horns, loud Bronx accents, and every type of person under the sun, all hustling and bustling about, as I watch it all from the wound-down window of my very own private car.
I know, right?
I still couldn’t quite believe it when I stepped off the flight, just a couple of hours ago, and there standing in the Arrival’s lounge was an immaculately dressed six foot white guy with a big cardboard sign, with my name written on it! It was like something out of a corny romantic comedy film, and that’s still how it feels right now, as I sit back and relax, as much as I’m able, on the plush leather seats, as the sleek, jet-black car glides effortlessly through the mid-afternoon traffic of downtown Manhattan.
As we drive, I check the hem of my skirt for any loose stitching. It’s not exactly like I had very long to throw this outfit together, and I’m hoping the edgy, modern design I settled on in the end will distract from any rushed sewing. After all, it’s not like I could afford to just go out and buy something new to wear, so a revamp of one of my tatty old work skirts will just have to do.
“Okay, Miss Adams,” the driver says in a soft, refined accent – treating me the same way as if I was some kind of freaking celebrity. “Here we are. If you head into the lobby and tell the receptionist you’re here for the appointment with Mr Whitelaw, she’ll make sure to do the rest ...”
“Thanks, um ... and what’s your name?” I reply, sheepishly.
“Trent,” the driver smiles back at me, perhaps a little taken aback – like I’m the first person to ever actually talk to him like a regular human being before.
“Thanks so much, Trent,” I grin back at him, before stepping out of the car and heading towards the imposing building, set back from the busy street – the words Whitelaw Enterprises emblazoned on the tinted glass above its huge entrance.
I look up in awe at the crazy building – the daringly modern architecture, the way the tint of the glass lets on nothing about what might be going on inside it, not to mention the ambiguity of the name; because ‘Enterprises’ could mean almost anything, couldn’t it? – and then I think again about the wording of the advert, and in particular this time I think about the third line, the one that says: You shall be very handsomely rewarded ...
