Reluctant Realtor

Penny shows the warehouse to Chanel, walking each empty room with an eager smile. Chanel listens without much reaction until she finally speaks. She produces pleasure toys. Glass. Steel. Nothing hidden. Penny feels the heat climb her throat. She tries to steer the conversation back to square footage and load-bearing walls, but Chanel does not flinch. Chanel sits her down on a stack of unused pallets. She opens a slim black case lined with toys that catch the low warehouse light. The glass ones look thick and smooth. The metal ones are cold and heavy. Chanel picks up the first piece, holds it between them. “Pick the one that you want inside you,” Chanel says. Penny’s fingers hover. She settles on a short, clear plug with a flared base. Chanel nods, already working the buttons of Penny’s blouse. She slips her hand inside, cups the swell of each breast until the nipples stiffen against silk. Penny exhales through parted lips. Her skirt rides up as Chanel’s other hand slides between her thighs. Two fingers part the wet seam of her panties and press the plug in place, slow, patient. The stretch fills her; heat blooms through her belly. Chanel’s thumb circles her clit, steady, deliberate. Penny braces one palm on the pallet, knuckles white, hips rolling into the pressure. No more talk of contracts. No thought of landlords. Just the slow, certain rhythm of Chanel’s fingers and the cool weight of glass now seated deep inside her. Penny pushes back, chasing the next stroke, the deal suddenly secondary to the way her body gives under Chanel’s touch.