I move closer. He motions me around so I turn my back to him then bend over, exposing the money-patched split to his view.
‘That’s superb.’ He reaches out and runs his fingertips over the paper, pressing it against my hidden clit. ‘I’m going to ask you to get on all fours on the bed, just like that. No, keep the heels on, they’re fine.’
I watch Conrad through my arms and legs as he picks up his briefcase and opens it. He doesn’t seem to be in a hurry to undress. Is he not going to fuck me?
From a fabric pocket in the case lid he withdraws a long thick dildo. He did ask about double penetration – it seems that must be an interest of his. I tighten my sphincter in anticipation. Should I charge more to be fucked by two cocks, even if one of them isn’t real?
Lloyd’s question: How much should I have charged?
As Conrad approaches, dildo in hand, I notice that the bulge in his trousers has flattened somewhat. Where is his erection? Why am I posing here with my arse up and money stuffed down my knickers if it doesn’t even give him the horn?
He reaches over and removes the money from my crotch, exposing my pussy to his gaze. I wait for a finger to touch me or pinch my clit or penetrate my vagina, but that doesn’t happen.
I look over my shoulder, curious to know what he is doing.
He is wrapping the money around the dildo, securing each note with the next one, until the entire implement is plastered with purple and images of the Queen’s head. Then he takes a condom and slides it over the top, holding the money tight in place, keeping it clearly visible through the transparent latex.
‘Head down,’ he growls, noticing my interest. ‘Bum up. Thighs wide.’
He joins me on the bed, introducing the tip of the dildo to my widespread labia, rubbing it around in my juices, lubing it up ready for the long journey into inner space.
I want to talk, very badly, to make some remark about this being the ultimate metaphor for capitalism, but something tells me he doesn’t want to hear my opinion. I take it in silence when the broad rubber-clothed invader is shoved none too gently up inside me.
‘This is what I like, whore,’ he says in a low hypnotic voice, sending his thick hard representative up to the hilt. ‘I like to watch your cunt used for money. By money. Watch you getting fucked with the dirty cash you’re going to take from me. You won’t be able to spend it without thinking of what it did to you.’
He thrusts hard and I start to pant. I can’t work out whether or not it feels good. At the moment, it feels so strange, so disconnected, that I don’t think my nerve
endings have worked out whether they’re meant to be experiencing pleasure or discomfort.
‘Touch yourself.’
My nerve endings know how to play when I put a finger on my clit. They veer happily over to the pleasure side of the street. While I flick, Conrad speaks again.
‘This is the only thing that gets me hard these days. To buy, to pay, to watch my money fucking a whore. To have, to own, to take, to possess. Do you know how that feels, Sophie? Of course you don’t. You’re a whore. You get had, owned, taken, possessed. You’re the item on the shelf. I choose to take you or leave you. Choice is such a turn-on, Sophie. Choice, power. You’ll never know how sweet it can be.’
His dildo slides over and over my G-spot, pushing me beyond the capacity for speech. If I could speak, what would I say? Fuck you is all that springs to mind. Perhaps it’s just as well I’m mute at the bottom of my familiar path to orgasm.
Fuck you, asshole, tattoos through my mind as the combination of clit-strumming and dildo-fucking does its damnable work. And then I realise that there is something I can do to take some power away from him. An easy thing, a passive thing, a thing he won’t even know about, but will make me feel happier.
I can fake it.
‘I’m going to keep doing this, Sophie,’ he says, ‘until you come. You’re going to come, right there, full of a wad of my money, come all over it. Dirty, dirty whore.’
I shout, then sigh in a creditable imitation of how I sound when I’m coming on all fours with a dildo in my cunt. I have a large bank of memories from which to draw.
‘Ooh, hard, fuck me hard, you banker.’
I hold my breath for a moment. Too much? Will he cotton on to my dramatics?
No. He chuckles, obviously pleased with himself. ‘Think of that when you’re handing a twenty over at the bar later. Think of what else it bought. I love watching whores come with my money inside them. Love it more than anything. Get up and suck me.’
The dildo is withdrawn. Still tense and tight with the need to come, quashing it down as hard as I can, I get up on my knees and face Conrad.
He’s hard now all right. Apparently, this is what it takes to get him there.
My resistance turns, for a moment, to pity. What a stunted person he must be. But then I wonder how I can have the brass neck to judge another, given my own limitations in the field of normal human behaviour. He’s just a cock. I’m just a mouth. So, let’s have oral sex.
He frees his cock, puts his hand on my head and pushes it down.