Ray Strong: Sucker virgin

"Are you telling me you want me to fuck you?" Joe Orgiurio asked.

Joe was a tall, handsome, twenty-five-year-old man with rugged-looking features, wavy brown hair, and a solid, muscular body. At that moment his virile physique was covered by a form-fitting pepper-brown suit, with a rich chocolate-brown tie and a white shirt.

There wasn't a woman working for Incidental Insurance who hadn't stared after him, dreaming of feeling his solid cock buried in her teeming cunt. But until that early Monday morning, none of the other girls had been courageous enough to confront Joe and tell him exactly what she wanted.

The girl to whom Joe was talking was Michail "Mickey" Conforte, one of the most desirable young redheads ever put on earth. Mickey was a natural redhead, something only she and her parents knew at that moment. Her face was a pretty picture, with hazel eyes, a short nose, full rich lips, and loads of freckles. But her body was something other girls envied her. She had an active

metabolism, which meant she didn't have to watch her diet, and though she continually ate and ate, her round, apple-shaped tits pushed against the confining harness of her white bra, stretching her almost-transparent pink blouse to its strained limit. Her waistline was less than twenty inches, blossoming out into lush, full hips and tight, slender thighs barely covered by an aqua miniskirt. Her knees were round without appearing to be bony, and her calves had a perfect swell to them, tapering into trim ankles, leading, in turn to dainty feet encased in white heels.

Mickey had a habit of wrinkling her pretty little nose like a bunny, and each time she did it, more than one cock, hidden by the confines of trousers, rose to full mast in horny salute. The men who worked in the Incidental Insurance office would have been more than anxious to get into her delightful body had they any idea what was going on in her mind.

What had been going on in Mickey's mind was something rather basic. Here she was nineteen, almost twenty, and because of her parents' strictness, not only had never been fucked, but had never so much as had her tits squeezed. It was becoming annoying, especially to one like Mickey, who came from a family with very hot blood.

Morals were different today, and not like they had been in her mother's day when a woman had to preserve her pristine purity for her husband's pleasure. In other words, a girl had to marry without trying out the proper cock, and hope the man she was marrying knew how to use that prong of his so it not only made babies, but gave an adequate amount of pleasure.

Mickey's mother had been more than fortunate in that her husband turned out to be one of the world's best cockmen. But Mickey knew better than to hope she might be equally lucky. No, there

was not going to be any element of risk in her life. She wanted to test the various cocks of the men with whom she'd be going out, not to mention feeling a few others, on the side. This was the age of enlightenment, and she'd be damned if she'd be tied dawn by old-fashioned morals. Hell, she wanted her husband to be a good provider, a good dancer, a man who could appreciate her for herself, but above all, he had to fuck in such a way that she received maximum satisfaction at all times.

The only way Mickey would be able to discover these qualities would be to test them, one by one. There would be no problem as to his being a provider. Mickey invariably learned what a man did for a living before even considering a date with him. If a man was earning in the vicinity of at least three hundred a week, with prospects for pay increases with the passage of time, she dated him. She purposely let the man see her in her worst clothing, usually on a Sunday afternoon, to see his reaction to her, rather than to what she wore. If he passed the Sunday-afternoon test, she would go out the following Saturday evening with him and see what kind of dancer he was. But there the tests ended.

Mickey wanted to be laid, re-laid, parlayed, and, if necessary, filleted, but she knew she ran a great risk if the first man to fuck her realized she was a virgin. Then he might become conscience-stricken, and either run away, or, out of remorse, feel it his duty to marry her. Mickey wanted neither. She wanted to be wanted for her own qualities, just as she wanted a man for the various qualities he had to offer.

Therefore, Mickey needed to be rid of her troublesome hymen, and she decided the best man to do that was Joe Orgiurio, the handsome, devil-may-care, super-salesman in her office. What Mickey didn't know was that Joe was a bit of a

sadist, and the request she had made of him was about to profoundly change her way of life, because Mickey Conforte, an otherwise normal young lady, had a masochistic streak hidden deep down inside her, and Joe Orgiurio was about to bring it to the surface.

They were in the office, standing across the counter from one another, with Orgiurio the only one on his side, while Mickey had four other girls working near her, and so, of necessity, had to speak in a low voice. It was to Joe's credit that his facial expression didn't change when Mickey propositioned him, and so none of the other girls working near Mickey understood what she was requesting.

"I want the works," Mickey whispered to him. "I want you to do everything you can to me, unless you don't think you're capable."

"Shit!" Joe murmured. "I can handle the job. It's just that you've always been so standoffish with everyone."

"Well, that's about to change," Mickey whispered. "How about today, after office hours?"

"I'll pick you up about four forty-five, downstairs" he told her. "I drive a white Corvette, so be ready to jump in when I pull into the parking lot."

"I'll be ready," she assured him, her heart already hammering.

Like all the other office girls, Mickey was fascinated by Joe's body, and to think she was about to experience the thrill of enjoying that body, not realizing Orgiurio was inwardly salivating at the prospect of fulfilling-his daydream as far as she was concerned.

It was a long day for both of them after that, but four-thirty finally came around and all the other girls left the office. Mickey went to the ladies' room and carefully washed her red-fringed cunt with warm water. Then she freshened up the

rest of her.

At four forty-five she was downstairs and out in the back area when Joe Orgiurio's white Corvette pulled into the parking lot. He had the door open for her as he stopped in front of her, and she got in.

Then he zoomed off to the motel where he had made a reservation an hour before.

He showed her to the motel room, and as she entered Mickey noticed the walls were nice and thick. No one would hear them.

The moment they entered the room and Joe locked the door behind them, she turned to him and felt his arms around her as his mouth came crashing down on hers. His lips pressed against hers, and as he opened his mouth, the pressure caused her to open her lips. His tongue slipped readily into her mouth, lashing around like a whip, slurping everything out, tickling her gums and her palate.

French-kissing was something which Mickey was used to, but she hadn't expected such a violent attack. She was totally unprepared, but managed to retaliate with her own tongue as best she could. Even so, there was a strength to his kisses and a vehemence she had never experienced before,

"Easy," she finally whispered, pushing him away, holding him at arm's length. But even as she spoke she felt a new, unknown heat rising inside her. When he pulled her to him again, she began to fight him, but found herself no match for his great strength. But even as she fought, Mickey realized she was enjoying the conflict more than anything else she'd ever known previously.