Virgin Wanted

By: Sierra Cole

Could this finally be the lucky break I’ve been waiting for all my life?



“Oh, come on!” Greg laughs, punching me on the shoulder. “I mean, when was the last time you let yourself blow off any steam. It’s just a few drinks, man. It’s just work, work, work with you. It’ll be fun. I mean, when was the last time you had any of that, right?”

Again, Greg explodes in laughter, and no matter how hard I try, I just can’t quite bring myself to join in. I just wish he’d leave my goddamn office.

If he wasn’t the son of one of my biggest investors, I’d fire him in a heartbeat. But no, I’ve got to keep his dad sweet, by employing this total imbecile.

I shoot a glance up at the clock. It’s nearly five o’ clock.

“Listen, Greg,” I say, “I’ve got a meeting at five. I’ll catch you on Monday ...”

“Don’t tell me you’re still pursuing Malchovic Finance?” he says incredulously. “Man, you don’t ever let anything go, do you?”

I shrug, letting him believe that my five o’ clock is business related.

“Well, old man, I guess I’ll leave you to it,” he adds, slapping me playfully on the back. “But if you change your mind, we’ll be at the Spearmint Lounge until late! Oh, and don’t forget – you’re definitely coming out for my birthday drinks next week. You already promised me that one, and I’m not letting you wriggle your way out of it, no matter what you say ...”

I give him the very briefest of nods, and then, finally, he leaves me alone in the sanctity of my office, with only minutes left to prepare before my meeting.

My meeting with Alisha.

I slip the contract I’ve had my private lawyer draw up out of the desk drawer by my thighs and give it a cursory glance – not that I need to.

By now, I know this contract by heart.

I just hope she lives up to my expectations.

Because I’ve got real high hopes for this girl ...



I take a deep breath then walk as confidently as I can into the large lobby, which is just about as empty as the building I normally work in. I feel a twinge of guilt, as I think again about Monisha, sitting there behind the reception desk today on her own, probably bored out of her mind, believing that I’m currently home sick with food poisoning (which is the excuse I gave her when I called up first thing this morning).

“Can I help you?” the girl on reception says as I step up to the counter. Her long blonde hair is immaculately almost impossibly straight and her icy blue eyes make no attempt whatsoever to hide the fact that she’s looking me up and down as if she’s never seen anyone like me in a high class place like this before, making no attempt whatsoever that she obviously thinks I’m trash.

I push my shoulders back, take a deep breath, and say my name as loudly and confidently as I can. “I’m Alisha Adams,” I explain. “And I’m here for a five o’ clock appointment with Mr Whitelaw?”

“Oh, you’re Miss Adams?” she says, again making no attempt to mask her surprise. “You’re not exactly what I was expecting ... Well, anyway, take the elevator in the corner up to floor fifteen. Mr Whitelaw will be waiting for you in his office. It’s at the end of the corridor. I’ll call up now to let him know that you’re here.”

And with that, she turns her icy cold gaze away from me to the phone in front of her, picking it up and dialing through an internal call, her perfectly manicured glossy pink nails tapping and clicking against the plastic buttons of the phone, as I turn, somewhat shaken, make my way towards the elevators.

As I push the button and step inside, summoning floor fifteen, I wonder just what exactly she meant about me being not what she was expecting ...

Does she mean she was surprised that I’m black? Or is there some other reason for her weird comment?

I look myself over in the mirrored wall of the elevator as it rockets me upward toward the fifteenth floor, hoping that I’ve not got some major wardrobe malfunction going on. But no. To my relief, my homemade outfit seems to be holding up okay.

And I’ve certainly chosen clothes to best show off my figure too – which, okay, might not be the most curvy or voluptuous you’ve ever seen, and if anything might be regarded as kind of skinny. But I’ve done the best with what I’ve got: the way I’ve re-sown this white silk blouse certainly shows off my small but pert breasts, and the cut of my redesigned skirt draws attention to my best asset, too: my ass.

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