Cafe affair

Abbie Cat pushes into the dim office behind the kitchen, barefoot on cool tile, lips already wet. Clara stands behind the desk, sleeves rolled, jaw tight. The missing cash sits between them like an ugly little fact. “You’ve got two options,” Clara says, cold as glass. “Police, or me.” Abbie swallows. “What do you want?” Clara moves around the desk, low heels striking like hammers. Her fingers trace the line of Abbie’s jaw, thumb pressing the corner of her mouth until it parts. She tastes faintly of red wine and cigarettes. “Strip,” she orders. “Slow.” Abbie’s blouse hits the floor first, then her bra, nipples already hard in the open air. Her skirt pools at her ankles, panties dragged down next. Clara eyes her cunt, shaven, glistening. “Knees.” Abbie drops. Clara unbuckles her belt, pulls the leather strap free but drops it, then slides her fingers into Abbie’s dark hair. “You owe me two thousand,” she says. “So you pay with this pretty face.” She spreads her thighs and tugs Abbie forward. Her panties are black lace, soaked through. She peels them aside, exposing her swollen cunt—pink folds glistening, clit already stiff. Abbie drags her tongue through it in one slow, wide stroke, collecting the taste of salt and arousal. Clara groans, low in her throat. “Use your fingers,” Clara commands. Abbie pushes two inside, curling, stroking that spongy spot until Clara’s hips start to buck. With every thrust she fucks harder onto Abbie’s mouth, grinding her clit against the girl’s nose and tongue. Abbie’s chin is slick, saliva and slick mixing. Clara yanks harder on her hair, riding. The first orgasm rips through her quick and sharp; she shakes, cunt clenching tight around Abbie’s knuckles. But she doesn’t let go. “Again,” she pants, pushing Abbie’s head lower, spreading wider so the tongue can lick lower, down over her asshole and back up. Clara cums twice more—once gasping quietly, once with a broken moan that echoes off the stainless-steel surfaces of the office kitchen. The third time she clamps Abbie’s head between her thighs until the muscles stop twitching. When she releases her, Abbie’s face is shining, lips swollen, mascara smudged. Clara looks down at her, cool again. “Debt cleared,” she says. “For now. Be ready tomorrow.”