Clara - A Note in the Pocket

Clara and Denisa sat in the living room, sipping coffee. Denisa was still gushing about the guys from their campus courses, which didn't really interest Clara. But being friends with her had its undeniable perks. Denisa got a generous allowance from her dad and had no problem covering Clara's expenses. Whether it was cafes, clothes shopping, or cosmetics. So even though she occasionally had to listen to her endless chatter, overall it suited her just fine.

Like Clara, Denisa also lived with only one parent, but unlike her, it was her father. He owned a relatively successful IT company, so he had enough money to spoil his daughter. Furthermore, it hadn't escaped Clara's notice that David was quite a handsome man. A few times she caught herself thinking about him, but she never had the chance to talk to him more, because Denisa was always around. Their contact was thus limited to a few polite phrases in greeting.

Clara ended up here today rather unexpectedly. Originally, she was supposed to meet up with Tomas, but it didn't work out and Denisa desperately wanted to talk. Her outfit still reflected the original plan, though, so she was wearing tight low-rise jeans that perfectly hugged her ass, and a short tank top that barely covered her breasts. Not to mention she had deliberately worn a bra a size too small underneath it to make them look better.

While they chatted, David walked through the living room to the kitchen twice, returning with a mug of coffee. On both occasions, Clara tried to catch his eye, but without success.

After about an hour, Clara headed home. In the hallway, she lazily threw on her scuffed leather jacket, said goodbye to Denisa with a practiced sway of her hips, and clicked the door shut behind her. On her way to the bus, she reached into her pocket for her cigarettes out of habit. But instead of the hard pack under the cellophane, her fingers brushed against a folded piece of paper that definitely hadn't been there before.

Scrawled on it in sharp handwriting was a phone number, and below it, a single word: *Text me*.

Clara stared at it in disbelief for a moment before it fully sank in. She didn't know what to reply, but she wanted to reach out. So she just hit the spacebar in an empty message and sent it. She didn't expect a reaction to such a blank text, but her phone immediately vibrated in her palm.

"Walk to the stop, let the bus pass, and wait for a ride," a deep, confident voice said. Clara paused, but at the same time, it sounded like a challenge she couldn't refuse. "Okay," she managed to say, and hung up.

As soon as the bus pulled away, a black SUV stopped at the curb. She knew it, it had been parked in Denisa's driveway plenty of times. She automatically pulled the handle and slid inside. David sat behind the wheel and pulled out without a word. Clara turned to him expecting some sort of reaction, but he just drove with icy calm, not giving her a single second of his attention.

They drove for less than ten minutes before he pulled into the shadow of some trees on the edge of a deserted road. He turned off the engine, and the silence in the car was suddenly deafening. It fully dawned on Clara for the first time just how close she was sitting next to him. She could smell the expensive scent of leather on him, along with a thick, almost suffocating confidence. The sound of the central locks engaging made her flinch slightly. He slowly turned his head toward her, and his gaze literally pinned her to the seat. The polite father of her friend was gone; looking at her from the dark was a predator who knew exactly what he wanted. "You stared at me at Denisa's just long enough to let me know you're interested, Clara," he broke the silence without a shred of warmth. Clara raised an eyebrow cheekily. "And you stared at me long enough to slip your number into my jacket. That kind of note seems more expensive than a single look." His hand crossed the small space between them and landed directly on her thigh. It was heavy and burned even through the thick denim. He left it resting there. "We're not going to pretend we drove out here to talk." The muscle under his palm tensed and immediately relaxed again. Right at this moment, Denisa was sitting at home chattering into the void, while her dad had his hand between Clara's legs in the middle of the dark. That taboo thought heated up her lower belly sharper than his hand did. "I'm going to do whatever I want with you," he said coldly. "I buy obedience. And I want it without any backtalk." Clara leaned in and placed her hand right on his crotch. He was already hard and hot through the fabric, so she provocatively, slowly stroked him with her thumb. "But that could end up being pretty expensive. What's the offer?" David grabbed her wrist with lightning speed. He didn't push her away, he just slowly pulled her hand back to her own thigh and held it there firmly. "We'll talk about that once I've tested the goods." He started the engine. He left his fingers on her thigh, and Clara didn't push them off. She looked straight ahead at the dark road, calculating in her head how much she was going to charge for this. And whether it would be mostly for the sex, or for keeping her mouth shut about it.

A short while later, the car turned off the road toward a gray fence, behind which stood a small but modern building. Clara realized they were on the outskirts of the city, where various companies, warehouses, and similar facilities were located. The gate opened and the car disappeared behind the fence.

The car parked in a spot right next to the front doors. Clearly the CEO's spot. David turned to her: "You're going to stay in the car, I'll go inside, turn off the alarm and the cameras, and then I'll come back. Until I come back out, you don't move." Clara nodded.

She sat obediently in the darkened car, her heart pounding. Outside, a streetlamp flickered faintly, casting jagged shadows across the driveway. David got out, his silhouette disappearing through the building's doors. After a few long minutes, a heavy metallic clack echoed out, and his figure appeared in the doorway, silhouetted against the dim light from inside the ground floor. He waved his hand. Briefly. Clearly.

Clara jumped out. Her heels clicked sharply against the asphalt, and a second later the front doors slammed shut behind her, heavy and final. David, in the silence illuminated by nothing but the green exit sign, walked over to a keypad. Two dry clicks, and the space was locked down from all sides.

Clara stood still. An empty building, locked, and her inside it with a guy she had no idea how far she'd go with. Her breathing quickened, causing a twitch between her thighs. On the stairs to the second floor, she only heard her own clicking and his footsteps, slow, always the exact same distance behind her.

When they walked through the doors, they found themselves in a luxuriously furnished, sprawling office. The space was dominated by a wide desk with several monitors. Its placement opposite the door commanded attention, somewhat obscuring a pair of sofas, two armchairs, and a taller glass table to the right of the entrance. The room was quite dark, as David hadn't turned on any lights. It was already dusk outside, and the only source of light was the illuminated hallway, glowing through the frosted glass of the doors.

David sat down in an armchair. Clara stood in the middle of the room, a bit unsure of what to do. "I don't think there's any reason to delay this. You know what I want."

Clara walked over to the other armchair. She set down her purse and jacket and took a few steps toward him. "I'd prefer if you took those off," he said calmly, but in a tone that left no room for debate. Clara slowly turned her back to him. Her fingers trembled slightly as she pulled off her tank top and immediately unhooked the clasp of the undersized bra. The heavy, cold air of the massive office instantly hit the bare skin of her back and shoulders, raising goosebumps. She could feel his gaze on her, silent and unblinking, burning her from across the room. With every subsequent piece of clothing--kicking off her shoes, pulling her tight jeans over her hips all the way to the floor--a thick mix of insane vulnerability and twisted arousal swelled inside her. She found herself in front of a man a generation older, wearing only tiny panties, entirely at his mercy. When she finally turned back to face him, she instinctively crossed her arms over her bare breasts, as if the silence and his majestic posture had suddenly overwhelmed her.

David smirked quietly. "You want to earn money like a pro and you're going to be shy about showing me your body? I don't think so." Clara gave a small smile, dropped her hands, and walked over to stand in front of him. She sank to her knees as he unzipped his pants.

Clara smiled confidently, pulled him closer, and deftly undid his zipper. The fabric of his pants gave way, and she freed his erect penis from beneath his luxury underwear. He was so hard a vein bulged against the skin, pulsing heat into her hands. The only sounds in the room were his heavy breathing and the silence of the building he had just disconnected from the alarm. Clara leaned in and ran the tip of her tongue from the base all the way up to the head. He tasted slightly salty and masculine.

She looked up at him to see his reaction, but in the gloom she could only make out that he leaned deeper into the leather chair and tilted his head back slightly. He gave her no instructions; he took it as a given. For a split second, the thought flashed through her mind of how absurd it was to be kneeling here, taking her own friend's father's dick into her mouth just for the cash. But the sheer perversity of the situation turned her on incredibly. She opened her mouth and took him in. Dry, tight, with her lips firmly wrapped around his girth. She slid all the way back until she felt that familiar pressure in her throat, and then slowly pulled back up. The first quiet, wet smack sounded out.

Clara added her hand and started sucking in a steady, rocking rhythm. She knew her feminine weapons and knew very well what worked on men. Her loose, bleached blonde hair fell over David's legs as she focused on every movement. David let her dictate the first few strokes, but after a couple of minutes, that wasn't enough for him. His large palm landed on the back of Clara's neck. His fingers dug into her hair and gripped tight.

"Faster," he ordered quietly, but the tone allowed for no resistance.

Clara picked up the pace. David's hand tightened its grip on her neck, and he began setting the rhythm himself. He thrusted into her mouth, forcing her to swallow him deeper and deeper. Clara had to dry swallow just to handle the onslaught. Her eyes watered, and saliva ran down her chin onto his pants. The guys from her classes would have been begging and going crazy if she did this to them. This one stayed silent and took it with absolute entitlement, as if he had already paid for it. So this was the test drive. And she still didn't know the price.

David's breathing grew even heavier. Clara felt his entire body tense up, and she instinctively tightened her lips and the hand gripping him firmly. He let her work in a fast, suction-filled rhythm until he went completely rigid with a muffled growl. Clara felt the hot, pulsing surge of thick cum at the exact moment the hand on the back of her neck shoved her head down all the way. She swallowed as fast as she could to keep up with the massive ejaculation.

When she finally let him go, she took a deep breath and wiped a white drop from the corner of her mouth with her finger. David studied her for a moment before pulling his pants up just enough to cover his junk. Then he pointed toward the large desk.

"Get in there," he issued a clear command. "Bottom right drawer. There are condoms in there. Bring me a few."

Clara, still wearing only her panties, pushed herself up from the carpet. She felt a faint tingling in her knees. Barefoot, she crossed the soft rug and walked around the massive wooden desk. She opened the bottom right drawer and found several neatly stacked boxes of expensive condoms. She pulled three foil squares out of one of the boxes and, fully conscious of her own appearance, her bare breasts and curves, glided gracefully back to him.

She handed him one silver packet and tossed the rest onto the couch. David took it, tore the corner, and pointed with icy calm to the taller table made of thick glass standing by the wall. Its height reached just below his crotch.

"Lie down on that table. On your back," he said quietly, but the command rang with absolute finality. He was removing the rest of his clothes as he spoke.

Clara's pulse quickened. She walked over to the massive table of thick glass he'd pointed at. The smooth surface sent a harsh chill into her back and buttocks when she carefully sat down and then lay back on it. Her petite frame looked vulnerable and completely surrendered on top of it. At first, she left her legs only slightly parted, her toes resting on the ground. The contrast of the cold glass against her naked skin and the hot tension in her lower belly forced her to breathe deeply. She raised her hands and instinctively gripped the solid metal edges of the table as she waited for what would happen next. She had plenty of time to realize her own exposure in front of a man a generation older.

David stepped closer, his figure emerging from the gloom. He was already fully prepped, wearing the condom that gleamed in the residual light from the hallway. Without a word, he grabbed the insides of her thighs with his large hands. He lifted her legs into the air and uncompromisingly spread them even wider, exposing her entirely. Clara felt his fingers digging firmly into the soft skin above her knees. He looked her right in the eye, cold and focused, and entered her without further delay. He roughly and mercilessly parted her dry muscles, shoving his entire length all the way inside her in one long, crushing push.

Clara cried out sharply. That single thrust stretched her so much that for a second she didn't know if it hurt or if it was too late to wonder. David paused above her, letting her fully feel his girth and weight as he just breathed heavily. Clara gasped beneath him, trapped and stretched to the breaking point, knowing that now there was no way out of this. Only when he felt her yield and grow wet around him did he dig his fingers into her hips and start fucking her, hard and relentless, without pausing for a breath. Every impact made the glass beneath her back rattle. Clara wanted to grab his forearms, pull him closer, get at least a kiss, a look, or something like that out of it. He shook her hands off without slowing down and shoved them back onto her stomach. Thrust after thrust slid her sweaty body across the glass, forcing her to grip the edges so she wouldn't slide out of his reach. The glass beneath her shoulder blades was freezing. Between her thighs it was hot, wet, and full of him. Her bare feet dangled in the air, and the only thing keeping her in place were his dug-in thumbs.

Wet smacks echoed off the walls of the otherwise quiet office. With every hit, the edge of the table dug painfully into Clara's lower back, the impacts knocking ragged gasps out of her. Her cynical calculation collapsed under the sheer, raw physical dominance. The cold glass chilled her sweaty shoulder blades, her breasts shook, and her nipples hardened to the point of burning. His head stretched her from the inside so deeply that it stole her breath away, and despite the harsh discomfort, she was getting wetter than she wanted to show.

"Very good, exactly as I expected," he ground out through his teeth and picked up the pace. Clara opened her eyes. She wanted him to say that sentence to her, not into the air above her, but he was staring down at where he was driving into her. Clara shut her eyes and moaned out loud, dirty and completely devoid of irony now.

His hands slipped from her hips to under her ass. He lifted her up and drove in deeper, steeper. The glass beneath her back shuddered with every bottoming out, and Clara pushed her pelvis back against his before she even had a chance to decide not to.

"That's it, yeah!" he growled as he felt her clenching around him. Clara lifted her head. She wanted him to look at her, right now, in the midst of this, at least once. He was hitting her exactly in the right spot, and her nails screeched against the edge of the table. She let out a sharp cry and clamped down around him. David raised his eyes and caught her gaze. Right at the moment her attempt to keep control of the situation crumbled to dust, and with her eyes wide open, she came. Her body had completely betrayed her. She fell into pure, animalistic pleasure without a single thought about what she was going to ask for later. He had definitively proved to her which one of them was in charge here.

David felt her spasmodically squeezing him, and his thrusts grew shorter. He grunted, rammed into her one last time, and stayed there. His hips were pinned against her thighs, and he climaxed into the condom in a few hard jerks. Clara lay on the glass.

He stayed inside her for a few more seconds, then pulled out, and the glass beneath her made a strange sound.

David walked over to the trash can in the corner of the room and calmly tossed the used condom inside. Then he walked over to the coffee maker in the darker part of the office. Clara heavily turned her head and watched his figure from behind half-closed eyes. A quiet hum came from the machine, and a shot of strong espresso began pouring into a small cup.

David leaned casually against the counter and turned to face her. While he slowly sipped the hot coffee with one hand, his gaze objectively tracked over her ravaged, disheveled body on the smooth glass. His other large hand automatically drifted down to his crotch. Utterly without scruples, he began slowly and rhythmically stroking his heavy cock, only slightly wilted from his previous performance. In the quiet of the office, Clara could hear the muffled friction of his palm against his skin, and she saw how his shaft began instantly pulsing and hardening again under the rough, confident strokes. The caffeine and the visual treat of his exposed prey worked almost instantly. The crimson-flushed head reared up once again and gained volume. Clara watched it and didn't move. It was throbbing between her thighs, sticky, and only one thing sprang to mind. Two rounds, and he still hadn't told her how much.

David abruptly downed the rest of the coffee, set down the empty cup with a soft clink, and grabbed another silver square. With his eyes still fixed on her spread legs, he expertly rolled on a fresh condom and marched across the room directly toward her with heavy steps.

Clara instinctively pulled her legs together, but David's hands grabbed her above the knees and dragged her off the glass before she could even take a breath. The cold of the tabletop slid down her back, and then she was standing, barefoot, on the carpet, and he was steering her in front of him. Not dragging, steering. One hand on the back of her neck, the other on her hip, and she walked, because his weight was behind her and there was nowhere to go in front of her.

He spun her around at the sofa. Pressing his palm between her shoulder blades, he shoved her forward, and Clara tipped over the wide backrest, her stomach on the edge, her face into the dark faux leather. It was cold and clung to her cheek. Her hands scrambled forward, finding the seat cushion and digging into it so she wouldn't pitch over headfirst. Her feet stayed on the floor, but her toes barely reached, and her weight hung on that edge of the backrest digging horizontally across her lower belly.

David didn't pull her panties off. He shoved them aside with one finger and left them like that, the fabric wedged into her crotch. He grabbed her by the hips, his thumbs dug into the flesh right above her ass, and spread her thighs with his knee, shoving it between hers. Clara felt the soles of her feet lifting off the carpet. She wasn't standing anymore. She was hanging.

He circled his dick lightly against her labia, slid it up and down, and then pushed inside her all at once, without the warning she had subconsciously been waiting for. It wasn't smooth like before on the table, where she was already relaxed and dripping with juices. Here, her body hadn't managed to fully yield yet, and he plowed through that tight spot with force, making the latex snap loudly. Clara shrieked in pain into the faux leather, and her fingers cramped into the cushion.

"Wait, please... it hurts," she forced out, trying to push herself up on her hands.

His palm mercilessly forced her back down between the shoulder blades; he pressed his whole forearm into her weight and kept her down. With his other hand on her hip, he pulled her even closer, so the next thrust went a bit deeper than the first. The head hit bottom hard, and pain shot from Clara's crotch straight up into her stomach, right where the edge of the backrest was grinding against her from the other side. Tears sprang to her eyes and soaked into the leather under her cheek.

He didn't slow down. He set a pace, short and aggressive, and every bottoming out bumped her forward over the backrest a little, meaning he had to routinely haul her back by the hip. Clara could hear his thighs slapping wetly against her ass, because on the outside she was still pretty slick from the previous action on the table. This was saving her and dooming her at the same time. She was slippery, so he slid in easily, but inside she was swollen, sensitive, and every pass over the exact same spot burned like he was rubbing against raw meat.

She clenched her teeth and breathed only through her nose into the leather cushion. She tried to angle her pelvis downward, away from that piercing depth, but she had nothing to brace against. Her feet slipped hopelessly on the carpet, and the only solid points were his hand on her lower back and the sharp edge of the backrest dug in under her stomach. So she stayed exactly where he wanted her to be.

And then she made a choice. Not her tortured body--her. It still burned, sure, but she had already put in two rounds without a single exact figure, and behind her was a guy who clearly wanted to keep the goods. If she caved now, she might lose whatever he had already taken. Clara stopped sliding forward. Her knees bent slightly, her toes dug firmly into the carpet, and her ass lifted higher, directly against him, so the next thrust took a different angle. Still unbelievably deep, but a bit lower, across a spot that finally didn't hurt. Instead of a pained shriek, a short, surprised moan slipped from her throat, muffled by the sofa cushion.

David instantly felt it in his hand. He was holding her by the hip and felt that she was no longer squirming away, but actually pushing her pelvis back against him. He grunted and leaned over her. The palm on her back slid all the way up into her hair and gripped it--not to pull her by it, but to hold her in place. "Good girl," he whispered harshly into her ear, almost with gratitude. Clara gave a short, biting laugh, even with her face half-buried in the leather. Because "good" paid out significantly worse than "expensive." And he had started it first. His entire heavy, hot chest was now pressed against her back, his breath blowing directly into her ear. From this position, he couldn't thrust into her quite as violently. His strokes logically shortened and slowed, each one now ending with him staying inside and just bearing down, his hips mashed against her ass and his head pushed hard against the bottom.

"See?" he exhaled with satisfaction.

Clara answered that by arching brazenly against him. The backrest was digging up into her stomach, his weight was crushing her down from above, and she had nowhere left to dodge, so she went the only way left to her. Straight back, onto him. She squeezed him so tightly while doing it that she felt the condom slipping inside just on her own juices. And every time he bore down and paused, she tightened around him entirely on her own, even without trying to.

His hand in her hair responded to that with a stronger grip. His breathing grew audibly rougher; he stopped breathing steadily and started panting into the back of her neck in short, sharp bursts that mirrored his movements. He didn't need to haul her back anymore. She was coming back on her own, and he just drove in mechanically, harder and faster, until the entire massive sofa shifted a few inches across the carpet with every thrust.

He got there first. He flattened himself entirely on top of her, rammed in, and stayed put, and Clara felt his cock tense and clench inside her. Once, twice, three times, each throb distinct, smothered by the latex. His forehead dropped between her shoulder blades, and hot, ragged breaths came from his mouth straight onto her sweaty skin. He hung there like that for a while, full weight, and she carried him, her face buried in the faux leather, legs trembling, his cock still inside her and still hard.

Then he lifted himself up. He pulled out of her slowly, the condom sliding free with a wet, drawn-out sound. Clara stayed slumped over the backrest, because no one was holding her up and her legs weren't listening to her just yet.

She stayed bent over the couch, exactly how David had used her. Her body was completely exhausted, her muscles throbbing spasmodically, as she just tried to process the experience. Meanwhile, David calmly got dressed, sat back in his armchair, and waited without a word.

It took Clara a moment to manage to push herself up, gather her clothes, and carefully sit down on the couch.

David studied her with interest: "You're getting an extra hundred. That was actually really good."

Clara let his remark pass without a single response.

"Are you fucking anyone bareback right now? Are you on the pill?" he asked calmly, as if negotiating an ordinary corporate contract.

Clara just shook her head silently. "Which question was that an answer to?" he asked, noticeably sharper. "Both," she nodded. "Alright, then you're just going to start taking it," he ordered her. "I don't want any fucking condoms next time. I want to enjoy myself inside you completely and without limits. And I'm not going to stress over whether you're sleeping around with someone else in the meantime. I'll pay you extra for the exclusivity. But if I find out even once that you aren't honoring it, we're done immediately. And I'm warning you, not on good terms."

Clara instinctively pulled her bare knees up to her chest. It was still throbbing between her thighs, and he was already talking about next time, as if today really had just been some stupid test drive.

David stood up, pulled a leather wallet out of his pocket, and placed several neat bills on the table. "Your reward for today."

Clara expertly picked them up and quickly counted them by touch before stashing them in her jacket. "I have no problem going to the clinic for the pill. But from now on, you pay for them. And if it messes with my head or ruins my body, I'm quitting it and we'll figure out something else. And you're pricing that exclusivity separately for me."

David raised an eyebrow at that, almost amused. He left the thick wallet resting shut on the table. "Fine. But for the first three months you won't sleep with absolutely anyone else, so I have you completely clean. And if the pill doesn't suit you, we'll just figure it out." He looked at her questioningly and waited for a reaction.

Clara just nodded. She hadn't seriously slept with anyone lately anyway, let alone for free. Besides, she rightfully expected David would want to use her often enough to make up for everything else. The exact figure currently hiding in his closed wallet didn't interest her all that much at the moment. She'd told him to price the exclusivity separately. So let him show his hand.

"And what about Denisa?" "Nothing changes with Denisa. You'll be her friend exactly as you have been; this has nothing to do with her and is completely separate. I'll just drop the formalities and call you by your first name next time you show up at our place, so it doesn't look weird in front of her. You're just going to separate these worlds in your head."

It didn't sound like a question; it was a clear instruction. Clara just nodded again. She didn't have any issue continuing to play along with Denisa anyway.

Clara slid into her jeans under David's intense gaze. It still burned between her thighs, and her breathing was leveling out slowly. She pulled her tank top over her head and left her bra in her hand. She expected him to get up.

"Come here," he spoke up in a tone of uncompromising command.

Clara looked up at him with teary, tired eyes.

He hadn't sat on the sofa, and he hadn't unzipped his pants. He stayed in the armchair, legs apart, hands on the armrests. "On your knees. Between mine."

Clara remained standing. Her jeans were zipped up, her tank top was on, and today's cash was already resting in the pocket of the jacket thrown over the chair. Today had long since been settled and tallied. This didn't belong to it.

She walked closer to him and knelt without hesitation. Her knees hit the carpet in the exact same spot that had burned her barely half an hour ago, and her body instantly chimed in. But she deliberately kept her hands resting on her own thighs. When she tentatively reached up toward his fly, he instantly grabbed both her wrists and pushed them back, exactly like earlier in the car.

"No."

Clara blinked in confusion. After two hardcore rounds, she expected the third to be even rougher, and yet here he was, just holding her hands and asking for nothing more. Between her legs gave a confused, trembly twitch, because her body already knew very well what was supposed to come, and suddenly nothing was happening.

"You wanted to price the exclusivity separately," he reminded her calmly. "So price it."

She took a deep breath, and the exact figure jumped to the tip of her tongue immediately. But she swallowed it and stopped it in her throat. If she said the amount right now, from the floor, with his fingers wrapped around her wrists, it would be the price of a girl kneeling before him. And that's what it would stay.

"When I'm standing," she snapped back confidently.

David's thumb brushed right over the pulsing vein on her wrist. Slowly and just once. "You'll stand after you say it."

The silence in the massive office was exactly the same as before, only it was missing his heavy panting now. He breathed completely calmly, slowly, staring at her the entire time. Not down at her cleavage this time. He was looking right into her eyes.

Clara held that gaze for three breaths. Then came the fourth, and with it, her aching knees started to go numb, as the thought of what she was actually selling here raced through her head. Three months with absolutely no one else. That commands a much different price than a single evening.

"A thousand," she shot back. "A month. And you'll price the pill separately, like I said."

David's thumb stopped moving. He said absolutely nothing to that, nor did he loosen his grip on her wrists. Clara instantly knew he was waiting to see what she'd come up with next. He was testing how low she'd eventually drop from that thousand if he left her kneeling and waiting just a bit longer.

She didn't drop. She deliberately looked at his mouth instead of his eyes, because she knew with his eyes she'd be the first to look away. She was aware of her own racing pulse right beneath his thumb. It was wild. But it was still hers.

"Five hundred," he countered without blinking.

"Eight hundred."

His thumb lifted from the vein. He let go of both her hands at once and leaned back into the deep armchair, as if he had just signed an important clause of a contract.

"Six. And for the first three months, what you nodded to holds. No one else."

Clara stayed on her knees, even though she didn't have to anymore. Six instead of five, that pleased her, plus she had squeezed it out of herself only once she had her jeans zipped up and he hadn't even unbuttoned his yet. This small victory settled better in her mind than both of those hard-earned orgasms earlier.

"Six hundred," she repeated confidently, so it would sound out loud coming directly from her.

David just nodded to that. Briefly and unequivocally, exactly like when he's confirming business terms. "Stand up."

Clara pushed herself up from the carpet with a soft sigh.

"Not yet," David stopped her right away. "Show me something else with those tits, I really love them on you."

He unbuttoned his pants right then and there. He pulled them down just enough to pull it out of his boxers, and stayed sitting calmly with his legs wide apart, hands back on the armrests. His dick lay lazily over the fabric of his underwear, heavy, softer at the base after knocking out two rounds, but quickly hardening toward the head.

"Back down. And take off at least the top."

Clara stood in the middle of the silence with her bra already half in her hand and the six hundred firmly fixed in her head. Today is tallied and settled, she told herself, and he had actually unzipped his pants only after the fact. The negotiated money hadn't automatically bought her the end of the evening. On the contrary, with it she had bought him the right to continue timing things here.

The tank top came off without a word. She left her jeans zipped, however, and knelt humiliatingly back down between his knees onto the spot she already knew very well from the carpet. The zipper of her pants pressed uncomfortably up into her stomach.

She took him firmly in her hand and placed him right between her breasts. Skin on skin, both quite dry. She squeezed them tightly together with her palms, and David rocked his hips forward. The head slid up out of the cleavage almost to her chin, backed down, and drove up again. It rubbed. It didn't glide. After a few strokes, it started burning like a scrape, and pink stripes the exact width of his dick flushed across her skin.

David kept staring intently at her. Not somewhere above her, not into the dark. He looked exactly at what he had just paid extra for, keeping his hands resting calmly on the armrests without helping her in any way.

Clara flinched her shoulders in irritation, and his head slipped out of the cleavage with a dry snag. She licked her lips, gathered spit in her mouth, and spat right into her palm. She quickly rubbed it into the cleavage between her breasts, kept her hand wet, and used it to stroke up and down his head until it glistened. His breathing lost its rhythm for a split second at that.

She squeezed him back in, and this time it glided. The head drove through the entire length of her cleavage, rubbing wetly against her chin at the top. Quiet smacking and squelching echoed through the room.

Clara squeezed even harder. She had her palms dug painfully into her own body, her breasts squished together so tightly she could feel every throb of his pulse between them. And the entire time, she was calculating in her head. Today's cash folded in her jacket pocket, the negotiated six hundred from next month, and on top of that, the pill, which he would of course be paying for now. It ended up working out much better for her in the end than when she'd first knelt here an hour ago, not actually knowing her price at all.

His tanned stomach suddenly tightened, and his breathing hitched into a series of jagged exhales through his nose. Clara easily recognized that he was right on the edge, and she didn't bow her head away from it. She held him exactly where he had him and wanted him, right between her tits, and when he thrusted heavily against her for the last time, the head drove all the way up to her parted lips and stayed there.

He climaxed with a hot load straight onto her bare breasts. Thick fluid spurted from him in several distinct spurts that slowly trickled down her trembling skin into her cleavage and from there all the way down to her stomach by her jeans. David kept looking silently into her eyes the entire time. Only when the very last throb finally passed did he lean back into the armchair with a loud exhale and loosen his grip on the armrests.

Clara didn't wipe him off herself. She deliberately wanted to leave him with the mental image that this was exactly what she'd be carrying home on her body until she got into a hot shower tonight.

"Done?" she broke the silence curtly.

"For now, yeah."

She put on her bra, pulled on her tank top, and finally her leather jacket with ostentatious, provocative slowness. A dull exhaustion settled into absolutely every muscle of her body, but outwardly she didn't let it show in front of him at all.

Not a single word was spoken on the way downstairs. Long stairs, a dusky hallway, and then David paused for a moment by the front doors at the exact same security keypad where he'd punched in the lock codes earlier. A few dry tones answered him, and the entire building was instantly secured and empty again, as if absolutely no one had ever been inside it the whole time. Then they just walked in silence to the car. David started the engine, drove out past the massive steel gate, and smoothly headed back toward the sleeping city. Clara sat next to him, leaning heavily against the soft headrest, mindlessly watching the fast-passing streetlights outside the fogged window, and instinctively reached into her pocket. She felt the pack of cigarettes, and next to it, the fat bills neatly folded into narrow quarters. With routine calm, she counted them just by touch, without having to pull them out of her pocket.

He stopped exactly two stops away from where he had picked her up earlier. Clearly this wasn't the first time; it seemed like some standard precaution and learned habit of his.

"I'll be in touch," he finally uttered with a fleeting wink, shamelessly dragging a tired gaze over her entire body.

Clara paid him back that provocative wink in kind and stepped out into the cold with a chuckle. She stood there on the curb of the sidewalk for a good while after, lit up her favorite cigarette, and took a deep, relieving drag of tobacco.

*The pill,* she thought pragmatically into the void.

*Fine.*

She let a delayed night bus lazily rattle past and headed home on foot instead.