Infinite Rebate: I Get Richer Every Time I Spend

Then Gracie turned on his computer.

The screen lit up with a soft glow, throwing pale light across the desk and over Durnik’s tied body in the visitor chair. She did not stay in front of it like a normal assistant. She turned the monitor toward him first, angling it so he could see every move she made, then walked around and took his chairman seat for herself.

His chair.

His desk.

His computer.

And him, stripped down and bound across from her like the one being managed.

Gracie rose again and walked toward him slowly. While she moved, she slipped open the top button she had loosened earlier, then one more beneath it. The shirt parted wider across her chest, enough to show the full soft push of her breasts and the deep line between them. The fabric still held them, but only barely. Every step made them shift under the open shirt.

"Papi," she said, voice low and sweet, "I want to be useful to you all round."

The belt cracked against his thigh again.

Beat!

Durnik jerked, a sharp sound breaking out of him.

Gracie leaned in slightly, still holding the leather. "Ahh, papi... what’s the password? I’ll work, and you’ll fuck me. Together. Can you do that?"

As she asked, she lifted one hand and rubbed over his bald head in slow circles, almost affectionate, almost mocking. The contrast made the whole thing dirtier. Soft palm. Soft voice. Open shirt. And a man tied to a chair with belt marks on his legs.

"Can you, papi?"

Durnik was already losing the ability to think cleanly. Too many things were hitting him at once ~ the sting on his skin, the sight of her breasts so close, the promise of sex, the frustration of not being able to grab her. His mouth opened, but what came out was not the password.

"Just let me fuck the demon out of you," he rasped. "Leave the work. Come here."

He still had not answered her.

Gracie noticed.

Her fingers kept stroking over his head for a second longer, then the belt came down again, sharper this time.

Beat!

"Papi," she said, firmer beneath the sweetness, "do you understand me? What’s the password? Let’s work and fuck together."

She moved even closer.

This time she stood right between him and the computer, near enough that the open front of her shirt almost brushed his face. Her breasts hung just above his mouth, soft and heavy in the gap of the fabric, so close he could see the warmth of her skin and still not reach it.

Durnik immediately pushed his head forward, desperate to catch one in his mouth.

He missed.

The distance she left him was cruel on purpose ~ near enough to torture him, not near enough to give him anything. His lips parted. His breath hit her shirt. But the soft flesh stayed just out of reach.

If his hands had been free, he would have already grabbed both breasts and pressed them hard against his face. He would have buried himself there and stopped pretending this was about work at all.

But his hands were not free.

They stayed locked behind the chair, useless, while Gracie stood over him with the computer waiting and the password still unsaid.

"Come on, papi," she whispered, almost against his forehead. "Give me the password... and maybe I’ll let you taste what you’re staring at."

Gracie saw the way the old fool kept straining toward her chest, neck stretched, mouth half open, still trying to reach what she refused to give him.

She smiled.

"Papi," she said softly, "I can see you’re ready for me."

Durnik made a rough sound of agreement, eyes fixed on the open line of her shirt.

"So what’s the password?" she asked. "Let me get to work, papi."

His brain was already swimming in heat. He did not fully understand why she wanted the computer. He did not care either. If giving her the password was the price for finally fucking her, he was more than ready to pay it.

"One two three four five six seven eight," he said quickly. "That’s it. Now come here."

Gracie almost laughed in his face.

Of course it was that.

She should have guessed a man like him would protect his whole office with a password that stupid.

Still, she kept the slutty softness in her voice and posture as she turned back to the keyboard. "Good boy, papi..."

She bent slightly while typing, making sure the open front of her shirt hung forward and the curve of her ass stayed angled toward him. As the computer began loading, she shifted her weight and gave her hips a slow little shake, just enough to make the skirt move over her ass.

Durnik immediately tried to push the chair forward with his legs.

The chair scraped an inch across the floor before stopping again. He still could not reach her. All he managed to do was look more desperate, bare legs straining, tied hands useless behind his back, eyes locked on the ass he thought he was about to own.

The desktop opened.

Gracie moved fast.

She slipped a hand into the upper part of her clothes, pulled out a small flash drive she had kept hidden there, and plugged it into the computer. The second the transfer window appeared, she began copying everything she could reach ~ main folders, secondary files, anything that looked private enough to matter.

While it loaded, she walked back toward Durnik.

His face was a mess of confusion and lust. He still had not caught up to what she was really doing. All he saw was her coming closer again, breasts soft in the open shirt, mouth curved like a promise.

"Papi," she murmured, eyes flicking once more toward the screen, "you sure you’re ready for this?"

"Yes," he said at once. "Fuck, yes. Stop playing."

The transfer finished.

Gracie returned to the computer, checked the folders again, opened a private directory, then another, and copied those too. Only when she was satisfied did she eject the flash drive, palm it cleanly, and slip it back into her clothes.

Then she turned to him with a sweet smile.

"Papi," she said, "let’s get started."

She grabbed the arms of his chair and started dragging him across the office.

The old bastard was heavier than he looked. The chair resisted at first, then scraped loudly over the floor as she pulled him toward the far edge of the room, away from the desk and closer to the empty corner by the wall.

"What are you doing?" Durnik asked, still too hard and too hopeful to sound properly alarmed.

Gracie kept dragging.

"Papi," she answered, breathless with effort and false sweetness, "do you want people to hear my voice when I’m shouting?"

That one line finished him.

In his head, it was over. She was finally ready. All the teasing, all the belt strikes, all the denial ~ it had all been leading to this. He was going to fuck the stress out of her body and make the whole office performance worth it.

Then Gracie picked up the belt again.

The next strike was not playful.

Beat!

It landed hard enough to make his whole body jolt.

Then again.

Beat!

And again.

Beat!

This time she was not only performing. She was emptying frustration through the leather ~ the pressure from Lucas, the disgust of enduring Durnik, the unpaid debt, the whole filthy game she had been forced to play. The belt hit with real anger under the sex act, sharp enough that Durnik’s breath broke into pained sounds he could no longer hide.

It was the worst pain he had felt in a long time.

And still, idiotically, some part of him tried to endure it like it belonged to the fantasy.

Gracie dropped the belt on the floor.

Then she walked toward the door, hips moving slow, still giving him one last view of the body he thought he was about to get.

Durnik sat there gasping, tied, half-stripped, brain lagging behind the pain. He was still trying to process what she was doing when she reached the door, turned the lock, and stepped out.

The key left with her.

A second later the door locked from the outside.

Durnik stared at it.

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