"Ten thousand dollars."

"I told you: my parlor is not for sale."

"I don't want to buy your parlor," the thin man said. "I want to franchise your parlor."

"And own it. And staff it. And run it. No?"

"Well, yes. To open new branches of--what do you call it? Courtesan something?--I'll need control of the business."

"So you want to buy it."

"Listen, Amy," he said, sitting down on the massage bed and crossing his legs, careful not to wrinkle his business suit. "Your massage parlor has had as much success as mine and I have three locations with six masseuses working at each. I don't know what you're doing but it's working."

I sat down in the chair across from him, conscious of my naked body beneath my robe, what had happened so many times on the table he was sitting on, and what the secret of my success was: I'd been fucking my clients.

"What I want," the thin man continued, "is to rebrand be parlors to match yours. I want you to teach my employees your techniques. And I want to make both of us very wealthy."

"Ten thousand doesn't sound 'very wealthy' to me."

The man smiled. "A keen negotiator," he said. "Very well. Ten thousand and you're the boss--a forty sixty split of all future profits. You take care of the employees and I take care of the financials."

"I like the sound of sixty per cent." I liked the sound of ten thousand too, but I knew that I could get more. Besides, wrangling over money makes me horny.

"Sixty for me," he said, almost nervously.

"No. Face it. You need me more than I need you. I can do everything you want to do for myself. Why do I need you?" I had never felt so alive. My pussy was dampening. I was worried the wet would run down my naked leg.

"You could be charging so much more for your massages and you could do more to attract a female clientele. But you don't have the manpower or the locations to expand and if you can't expand you can't charge extra. Your customers will go somewhere else."

No they won't. "I appreciate the free advice, Mr. Hardy, but forty per cent still isn't enough. You can't charge any extra without what I can do."

I knew the minute he had walked in with a briefcase to his appointment that I would make the deal. I also knew that it was a bad idea. I could never tell him or my future employees why I had become so profitable. My customers would still only come to me. I would be found out and my carnal sin of massage therapy would be revealed. I would be disgraced, striped of my licence, and left to prostitute myself.

"I can't do any better than sixty-forty. Thirteen thousand?"

"Twenty."

"Fifteen."

"Twenty."

"Help me out here, Amy!"

"Seventeen and a cut of the profits. That's as low as I'll go." I could feel my face flush, the muscles between my legs throbbing to open to someone. But not now. Not him. I have another appointment in twenty minutes. Twenty minutes. That's all I need.

"Done," he said. We both stood and shook hands.

"My lawyer will bring you the paper work in a few days. It's been a pleasure, Amy. We'll be seeing each other soon."

Yes, soon. Now leave. Leave. Leave.

He left and no sooner, I was naked. My skin was blissfully bare, the white robe tangled around the wheels of my office chair and I was on my own table, working a puddle out from between my legs. Seventeen thousand, I thought, rubbing myself quickly around and around my clit. Seventeen thousand!

Soon, I could feel the wetness from my legs staining the sheet beneath me. "Seventeen thousand," I shouted.

One hand was tugging my nipple and the other was buried inside of me. I had never known myself to be this greedy but I was sick of living on a small businesswoman's wage and now the big time was here! I would never go back. Seventeen thousand.

Before I knew it, my next appointment was knocking on the door. I imagined that he had seen what I was doing and was playing coy. I leaped off the table leaving a slight stain and pulled on my robe.

Out in the lobby, I was calm and thankful that it was Mr. Maxwell--my first special client and a regular. I greeted him with a hug, careful to lay my considerable breasts across his chest so that I could feel the pecks beneath his shirt. I could feel his cock growing into my leg.

"Come," I said. He followed me without protest into the massage room. I noticed that he had already removed his wedding ring. I didn't have to ask.

My robe was off again. I bent over the counter that ran along the wall.

"But what about...?"

"The massage? After. Just fuck me."

"Are you--?"

"Now!"

I couldn't take it anymore. My pussy was throbbing. The wetness was really running down my leg now. I shut my eyes; shudders were running through me. I could feel his hands take my hips and the familiar strength of his arms as his thumbs pressed into the dimples on my back. And then I heard the jingle of his pants crash to the ground and the thick head of his cock searching for the opening between my legs.

Impatient, I reached back and helped him find it. He thrust his cock into me with a familiar force, the full power of his gym-made muscles driving his body into me. I cried out as if in pain but he knew not to stop. Again and again his dick slid through me, rippling rivers of pain and the beginnings of orgasm through my body.

His frame was ribbed with hardened muscle. His arms held me where I was, bent, trapped, while he pounded me. I could feel the power of his anger while he fucked me mirrored in my own dying need for him. That first time we had done this, he had thought it was special. He had thought to leave his wife for me. When I told him no, when I made him pay for the second visit, it had been like this. Now I was against the window, blinds shut against the outside. My breasts were tight in his hands almost too tight. Now my hair was unraveling from its bun. Now it was in his fist. He was pulling me back and fucking me forwards until my head was on his shoulder and my thumping hips were on his hips.

He was breathing heavily in my ear. I was whimpering in his, screaming out to the room. Seventeen thousand!

We had found our rhythm now. He was pumping into me, his thighs slapping against my ass, his hands digging into my back. His hand was around my throat and his lips were brushing wetly against my cheek. I could feel an orgasm boiling inside of me, one that had begun to burn during the negotiations. Now, I let it out.

"Oh my god," I said in his ear. I cried. I whimpered. I shouted. He was unfazed, continually pulling my breasts and fucking me. I could feel the cut of his abs against the skin of my back, his rough right hand stroking my hip as his cock crashed through me. His fingers found my clit and he was fucking me inside and out, cock meeting the tips of his fingers as they dug into me. He bit into my neck. He scraped across my chest, rippling the sweat off my nipples.

And then my insides warmed. I could feel him release inside of me. He pulled out and spilled the rest on the floor between my feet. Now my body was shaking from the residuals of orgasm, twitching in appreciation. Seventeen thousand.