by Nikki Chase
And now, here I am, in the same office, staring out the same window with a glass of whiskey in my hand. The old leather chair has been replaced by another one just like it—Pop has very particular tastes when it comes to office furniture. He even has the same chair in his home office.
In the past few years, he’d been spending less and less time here at the corporate headquarters, and more time at the home office. But I’ve also asked the home-care nurse to limit his time there to two hours a day. Whether she’ll manage to stop the stubborn old fool from working remains to be seen.
I don’t know how Pop does it, how he manages to accomplish so much with the same number of hours that other people have.
I’ve only just started taking over his work, so perhaps it’s natural for me to need some adjustment. I’m just glad Uncle Nathan isn’t also having health problems, although he and Pop are about the same age. Without him, I’d be completely overwhelmed.
And to think, I now have to do Pop’s job indefinitely. I thought I could go back to my own work as soon as he got out of the hospital. Fuck, I guess I’m stuck with this mountain of work forever now.
With all the tension and stress building up inside me, I need some kind of release. Too bad my preferred kind of release is not available…yet.
I can’t wait to get my hands on Daisy. It would feel so satisfying to come home after a long day at work to an obedient pet who welcomes me with a subservient smile on her face and nothing else.
Ah, fuck it. No one else is in the office at this time of the night. The office door is locked, and all my work for the day is done.
My belt buckle clangs when I yank it off. I unzip my pants and pull my cock out.
I imagine myself walking through the front door of my apartment. Daisy crawls on all fours into the lobby and kneels before me as I take a seat on the bench. She looks up at me, asking me for permission to touch my cock, which is already stirring in my pants.
“I’ve been waiting all day to taste you,” she says with a flirty smile.
I only have to nod at her, and she starts to stroke me through my pants, biting her lower lip like she can't wait. With her other hand, she frees my cock. She licks her lips and looks at me with submission in her pretty green eyes, like all that matters to her right now is serving me, pleasing me with every part of her body.
I’ve trained her to fix her gaze on me, so she maintains eye contact as she starts to lick me from the base, starting with the side of the shaft. I’m throbbing and pulsing now. I can't wait for her to put me in her mouth but, at the same time, I’m loving this show she's putting on for me.
Daisy runs her wet tongue up and down my underside until she reaches the top. She takes some time to tease the stretch of skin at the top of the shaft. This feels amazing, but I’m impatient now. She swirls her tongue around the head of my cock and I groan, which only makes her smile.
“It's not the time to be smiling, kitten. Open your mouth.”
As Daisy parts her lips, I grab her hair and push her head down until more and more of my hard cock plunges into her wet, warm mouth.
“Relax your jaw and throat like I taught you,” I order.
She obeys, and I slip into her throat. The view is so damn hot. She manages to fit all of me inside her, and I stroke her hair to reward her. Her eyes water, but she stays in place and continues to keep her gaze on me as I slide in and out of her throat, my shaft rubbing against her soft lips.
I shuttle my fist up and down my shaft. It feels good, but nowhere near how it would feel with Daisy’s throat wrapped around it, nowhere near as wet or tight or pretty. Fuck!
I focus on the image I have in my head, of my rock-hard cock disappearing into her mouth, her lipstick smeared all over my shaft and her face.
It doesn't actually feel as good as it should; my hand isn't as wet or warm or tight as Daisy’s mouth would be, but I come anyway. I come with a grunt, while in my imagination I have one hand on the back of Daisy’s head, pushing her down onto my cock, my hand grabbing and pulling her hair.
While I clean up, my phone bleeps. A text message. I wonder who's looking for me at this time of the night. Is something wrong with Pop, perhaps?
I grab my phone from the desk. It's Daisy, the girl who starred in the porn my brain has just made up. The message is short, with only four words:
I’m ready to negotiate.
Looks like I won't have to rely on my imagination for much longer. I smile to myself in the empty, quiet office. I knew she'd come around.
She has just sent this text message seconds ago. She's still awake. My father has always taught me to strike while the iron is hot. I press the Call button and listen to the dial tone.
I know exactly how I'm going to handle this situation. I want to end this call with a deal in place. I always get what I want from a negotiation; I do it every fucking day.
Besides, there's not much to negotiate when I’m willing to pay whatever sum Daisy wants. I’m sure I can afford her. I don't waste my money on fast cars or luxury vacations, so what's wrong with splurging on something I actually like? I’m sure I won't enjoy riding a Maserati as much as I will enjoy Daisy riding me.
“Hello?” Daisy's voice is soft. She's almost whispering.
“I got your text,” I say. There's no use for small talk when we both know what this is about. This is a transaction; not a romantic late-night phone call. The fun can wait; now it's time to set some rules and expectations.
“Yes. You said you're willing to negotiate.” There's determination in her soft voice. Unlike the Daisy I saw at the hospital earlier tonight, this new version has made a decision. She knows exactly what her next move will be.
“I did say that, yes.”
“I hear…” Daisy's voice trails off—a moment of reconsideration, perhaps. I listen intently to the pregnant pause until she says, “I hear, with deals like this, there's usually a premium on virginity.”
“Are you one, my little flower? Are you a virgin?” I smirk.
I wanted to keep this a business call, at least until we’ve agreed on something, but I can't help it. There's something about her that makes me do things I normally wouldn't do. When I made her the original offer at the party, I hadn't expected to even see her, and yet I ended up practically dumping $100,000 into her lap.
But this, what an interesting revelation. I wanted Daisy before, but now I need to have her, before another man touches her with his dirty paws. I’d be making plans to kidnap her right now if she isn't already in the process of declaring her surrender.
“Yes.” Her curt tone tells me she doesn't appreciate being teased about it.
“How much of a premium do you want?” I make a mental note to avoid mentioning the word ‘virgin’ and any of its derivatives until we’ve made a deal.
“$150,000. You offered $100,000 originally. I want $250,000,” she says quickly, almost stumbling all over her words, as if she's worried she might change her mind again about the amount if she doesn't just spit it out.
So she came prepared with her counter-offer—that's smart. She’s got the brains and the guts, but she hasn't learned the skills she needs to hide her real thoughts from her opponent, and I have. I am much older and more experienced than she is, after all.
I know for sure that she just spewed out the most outrageous number she can think of. I know that I can drive that asking price down. Way down.
From the way she's holding her breath as she waits for my response, I can tell she expects me to bargain.
I don't care, though. She can have the $250,000; it's not like I need the money for another car or another house.
“Deal,” I say.
I can almost hear the sharp intake of breath when she hears my answer. A sigh of relief. Then, quickly, she says, “Deal.”
“What time do you get off from work tomorrow?”
“Seven-thirty,” she says.
“Be in my office at eight. We’ll have supper at my apartment after you sign the
documents.”
“Tomorrow? I—”
“Yes, tomorrow. I want you to sign the papers, then I’ll call Dr. Pratt to tell him you need a vacation. Did you want to do this tonight? Are you that eager to part with your virginity?”
There we go again with the teasing. Fuck. I don't want her to back down at this point, preferring to live with her credit card debt rather than sealing the deal. I need to keep my mouth shut. I don't know why it's so hard to control myself around her.
“No, it just seems so soon,” she says. “I don’t even know where your office is.”
“My assistant, Sasha, will call you and tell you all you need to know. She’ll send you the documents so you can review them before we meet tomorrow. Okay?”
“Okay,” she says.
I hang up with a big grin on my face. The half-reflection of myself on the floor-to-ceiling glass window looks ghostly but happy, maybe even a little smug.
I send a quick email to my assistant to tell her to cancel my eight o’clock and send Daisy the contract.
This time tomorrow, I could be deflowering my pretty little flower.
Daisy
Life sucks.
Life has always sucked for me, but I’ve always thought there were some things I wouldn’t do. Ever.
Like prostitution, for example.
I struggled through nursing school, supporting myself with two, three jobs at a time. I’m always working, even now.
I know a girl who works at a strip club, but I’ve always thought I’d rather work my ass off than ever take my clothes off just so older men with beer guts can slip dollar bills into my thong to survive their mid-life crises. It never even occurred to me to sell my body, to let some perv fuck me—all for money.
I’d never sink that low, I thought.
But that younger, more naïve version of me also never expected to be in such deep shit. How did I get myself into this kind of trouble?
I’m a good girl. I studied hard in school. I’ve always worked hard. I’ve done everything I’m supposed to do.
Yet here I am, in the office of a wealthy older businessman, reviewing the contract that spells out all the terms of conditions of the sale of my virginity.
That’s right, I’m not just selling sex like a common street whore. I’m selling my virginity.
I keep going back and forth on whether virginity is a big deal.
On one hand, working in the medical field, I know it’s not even a thing—a hymen, I mean. It’s just a membrane that may or may not be there in a vagina. Some women don’t even have hymens at birth!
On the other hand, this will be the first time I have sex.
This will go down in my sexual history as The First Time. If someone, twenty years from now, wants to know the story of my First Time, I’d instantly remember this dark time in my life, cringe, and tell a fake story about some football jock and the bleachers under the stars.
This will set the expectations for my future partners. When I lie awake at night with longing between my legs, it will be Caine Foster’s body in my imagination. His tall, sturdy body, his blue eyes looking sternly into my eyes, his thrilling whispers in my ear, and… And his cock.
Before the end of the night, I may see a cock in real life. A real, hard, threatening specimen.
I mean, of course I’ve seen penises—in medical settings, as part of my job—but those don’t count. And sometimes Katie shows me the dick pics that guys send her, but I always find them gross.
This is Caine Foster, though. He’s different.
As much as I try to tell myself I’m just a good medical practitioner who’s always curious about the human body, I’m never convincing enough. The tingles in my core, whenever I think about what he’s packing, tell me I expect more than intellectual stimulation from whatever’s dangling between his legs.
“Mr. Foster will be here in a minute,” says a voice behind me.
I jump from surprise and look over my shoulder. Oh, it’s the assistant. Damn, she’s as quiet as a mouse.
She’s still looking at me like she wants to stab me with the thin ends of her many hairpins. I wonder how many cans of hairspray she wastes making that brown thing on her head so big and stiff.
“Thank you,” I say with a polite smile.
I don’t remember her name. I wonder how much she knows about me. Does she know I’m about to sell my virginity to her boss? Is that why she’s so sour? She nods and closes the door before I can figure her out.
It doesn’t take long for Caine to arrive. I feel him before I hear him. Feel his energy, that is. He has this quality about him. He has a big presence that fills a room the moment he walks in.
He takes his seat in the big leather chair in front of me. Without even saying a word, he exudes power, confidence, authority. His dark designer suit, his arrogant smirk, the San Francisco skyline seen through the tall glass windows behind him…
Caine Foster belongs on a movie poster. With his wealth, his looks, his life, what is he doing with me?
Even though I still feel conflicted about this whole deal, I’m definitely not walking out before I sign that contract.
I’m not letting go of $250,000 just because this hurts my feelings. My feelings aren’t worth $250,000. The $250,000 that’s going to pay off all my loans, get Jack through college, and finally get me on the right path for the rest of my life.
I’m sure I’ll have some money left over for therapy to deal with the trauma of the next thirty days or, failing that, some hundred-dollar-bills to wipe my tears with.
For now, all I have to do is get through this.
“Daisy.” Caine says my name like it amuses him. His eyes twinkle and the skin around them creases a little. He smiles, which sends a chill down my spine.
“Hi, Caine.”
God, what a lame thing to say.
“I trust you’ve reviewed the contract?” His voice is deep and inviting, his blue eyes gleaming with victory.
“Yes.” Maybe I should keep my sentences short so I don’t accidentally say something he can use against me.
“Have you filled out the blank parts?”
“Yes.” It took me a while; I even had to Google some words, but I managed to finish it.
“May I have a look at it?”
I look at the pieces of paper held together by a silver paper clip at the corner. I take a deep breath, then I slide it over to Caine’s side of the table. I feel like I’m handing in my exam papers, like I’m rethinking my answers and wanting to change all of them but there’s no more time left.
He flips through the pages with a smile on his face. I wonder if I’ve agreed too easily to his terms. Maybe I could’ve said no to more things on his endless lists of sexual acts and kinks. Maybe I could’ve asked for more money—it was weird how quickly he agreed to my 150% pay raise last night.
To be honest, though, I’m quite relieved that he doesn’t just tell me what he wants and expects me to give it to him.
He has way more bargaining power here. I’m sure there are thousands of girls in the downtown area alone who’d fuck Caine Foster for $100,000.
If this deal falls through, I don’t have thousands of other billionaires waving a quarter of a million dollars in my face. There’s no other way for me to get that kind of money. Literally.
Unless… Unless I risk my life smuggling drugs or something equally dangerous. But if I die, then who’ll take care of Jack? At least I’ll come back from this alive.
“Good,” Caine says. He’s already devouring me with his eyes, looking at me like he wants to eat me alive. “We’ll just quickly go over the main points so we’re both on the same page. Let’s not get too much into the details, though. Legal documents are such a chore to get through, and we both have better things to do tonight.”
I look away, for a split second, from his piercing gaze when I realize what he means by “better things to do.” When I meet his eyes again, he’s chuckling, obviously having caught my instant reaction.
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“Okay,” I say as nonchalantly as possible.
“This agreement, right after we sign it, will start a 24/7 arrangement for thirty days. You’ll live with me in my apartment and you won’t be allowed to leave the premises without my express permission. There won’t be any penetration without your verbal consent, and you can end a session at any time by saying the magic word, which is…?”
I take a deep breath and say, “Money.”
“That’s right. Money.” He grins from ear to ear.
God, I hate the safe word. I imagine myself in some compromising situation with Caine, having to say the safe word that reminds myself of this filthy deal we’re making.
“I’ll send you half of the money right after we sign the contract and I’ll also let Dr. Pratt know you won’t be working,” he says.
“Are you really going to tell Dr. Pratt I’m going on a vacation?”
That excuse is thinner than Keira Knightly, and I don’t think he’s going to buy it. It also makes me look unprofessional. I’ve been thinking all day, trying to come up with a more believable excuse that I can tell everyone—not just Dr. Pratt.
Luckily, Katie doesn’t need a solid reason to help me out. She’s agreed to look after Jack while I’m away, even though I haven’t told her any details. All she knows is I’m leaving to fix this problem in some way and I’m coming back in one month.
“No,” Caine says, amusement dancing in his deep blue eyes. “I’ll tell him I’m hiring you to take care of my father.”
“Oh.” I didn’t expect that. That’s actually a really good excuse. Why didn’t I think of it myself?
Casually, like the papers in front of him are just like the other contracts he signs all day, Caine grabs a fountain pen and writes his signature on a few spots in the contract.
Without a word, but with a big smile on his face, he slides the contract back toward me, with the fountain pen on top this time.
I manage to sign the document, even though my hand is shaking. I don’t even have to look up to know Caine is studying my every move intently.