Sakura dropped to her knees, the skirt riding up around her thighs, one hand pressing down to keep it from slipping too far, the other bracing on his knee.
Khan didn't guide her. Didn't unzip. Didn't speak.
He just leaned back, legs spreading slightly.
Her hand moved first. Tentative at the start. Brushing against the bulge in his pants. She bit her lip when she found the shape. There was no backing out now.
The zipper rasped down slowly. Her fingers slipped inside, nervous at first, then firmer as they curled around him. The second her skin met heat, she froze. Breath caught. Eyes wide.
She looked up, to check if he was watching. He was.
Khan didn't speak. Just held her stare long enough for her to drop it. Her throat worked around nothing. Then she leaned forward and wrapped her lips around him without asking if it was okay. Without checking if it was enough.
It wasn't good. She wasn't practiced. Her mouth opened too wide, like she thought bigger was better, and she gagged almost instantly, pulling back with a sputter. Her hand stayed on his thigh, fingers digging in.
Khan didn't react. He just let her reset. Let her decide what to do with the failure.
She swallowed hard and went back in.
Slower this time. More careful. She sucked in a breath through her nose and took the first few inches. She gagged again. This time harder.
The sound echoed off the cheap apartment walls, but she didn't stop. She pulled back, spit trailing from her lower lip, coughed into her sleeve, then leaned back down.
She stayed shallow. Used her tongue more. Cheeks hollowed a little when she found a rhythm, hand now wrapped around the base to make up the distance her mouth couldn't take. She wasn't sensual. She wasn't seductive. She was functional. Doing what she thought would make the debt vanish faster. The blowjob equivalent of working overtime.
Khan lowered his hand down. Not fast. Sliding through her hair, fingers curling near the base of her skull. She didn't flinch. If anything, she leaned into the pressure, like being held helped her breathe easier.
"Look at me," he said.
She did. Eyes watering, face red, her jaw already aching from trying to do something she'd never been taught, but she looked. Straight up. Lips sealed around his cock. One long, slow bob down. Then another.
"You're not here to impress me," Khan said, still watching every twitch in her expression. "You're here to obey."
Her lips slipped a little. She swallowed again. Still didn't break eye contact. The next movement was slower, deeper, and it made her cough again, but she didn't stop.
"You gag, you swallow. You choke, you keep going. If that's your price, earn it."
Her eyes fluttered shut for a second. Then she nodded against him, barely moving, barely breathing, and went back to it.
The rhythm was messy. Her lips kept smearing spit down her chin, and every time she took him a little deeper.
And Khan watched every inch of it.
This wasn't about pleasure.
It wasn't even about getting off.
Not yet.
It was about watching her fold. Watching her try to make sense of the way her body shook with every bob and still kept moving like her soul had already cashed the check. Watching her rewire what shame meant, one gag at a time.
Every sound she made was raw. Wet. Stuttered. There was no elegance to it. And when her lips slipped too far, when she gagged again and had to pull off, she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, cheeks wet, hair stuck to her forehead, and said...
"I'll do better."
After fifteen minutes, Khan still hadn't cum. Sakura's jaw hurt. Her throat felt raw. She tried everything, tongue, pressure, angle.... Used her hands when her mouth gave out. She even gagged on purpose, thinking maybe the noise would push him over.
Nothing. He stood without a word, dragged his cock across the fabric of her skirt, and cleaned himself on her thigh.
"It's fine. You can take the money."
His voice wasn't cruel. That almost made it worse. It wasn't angry or mocking. Just flat. He pulled his pants back up. Didn't look at her.
But his face was disappointed. Investment didn't return. Effort didn't pan out. Box checked, and it didn't even come with a receipt worth keeping.
Sakura stayed on her knees. Money clutched in both hands. Wrinkled now. Her throat bobbed.
Relief hit first. Fast and guilty. She didn't have to choke again. Didn't have to swallow anything she wasn't sure she could keep down. Didn't have to fake a smile or moan like porn had taught her.
But that relief twisted. Fast. Because if she didn't make him cum... did she do it wrong? Was something wrong with him? Or her?
Her lips were still wet. Her skirt, ruined. Her knees ached. Her pride shriveled up somewhere between "I'm offering" and the moment his cock slid past her lips.
And he didn't even finish. Didn't groan. Didn't twitch. Didn't say a word that sounded close to impressed.
She sat there with his come missing from the equation and the realization hit like a brick in the mouth, she couldn't even do this right. Couldn't even make a man cum.
Was she not hot enough? Not good enough? Not worth jerking off to, let alone finishing in?
She stared hard. Swallowed again. Her hands clenched tighter around the envelope.
Khan didn't say anything. Just grabbed his glass, took a sip, and stared out the window.
Finally, she stood. Knees popping a little. She adjusted her skirt. Smoothed the wrinkles. Couldn't do anything about the wet patch on the front. She stared down at it for half a second, then stopped. No point.
"Sorry," she said. A whisper with no spine.
Khan didn't even look at her. "You don't have to be."
That should've helped.
It didn't.
She stood there like a broken payphone. Waiting for more. For permission. For correction. For validation. For something that told her she didn't just offer herself for cash and fail the audition.
Khan finally glanced at her. Met her eyes.
But the warmth from before was gone.
That hit harder than any insult.
"You can go," he said.
She nodded. Feet moved on autopilot. She walked to the door. Opened it. Paused.
He didn't say goodbye.
Didn't say thanks.
Didn't even say see you later.
She stepped out. Shut the door behind her.
The hallway smelled stale. The same way it always did. Paint peeling. Lights buzzing.
But this time, it felt like judgment. She walked faster. Bag tight to her chest. Shoes clicking. That envelope, same one she begged for, suddenly felt heavier than her own weight.
She didn't cry. Not yet. That'd come later. When she was home. In her room. Behind the door she didn't lock anymore. Where no one could hear her ask the worst question:
If she couldn't make a man cum... did she deserved the money? Could she ask more? Should she ask more?
**
Khan threw the glass. It didn't shatter like he wanted it to. Just thunked against the wall and bounced off with a weak-ass clink before rolling under the cabinet. The crash barely echoed before he was out the door, jacket flung over his shoulder, door half-closed behind him. His jaw was tight.
"Sloppy bitch," he muttered.
Not even angry. Just blue-balled and twitching. She was sloppy, yeah. Tongue all over the place. But she was young. Beautiful. The kind of pretty that came with soft breath and broken pride. Enough to make most men forget the rest. Enough to make him consider cumming just to seal the deal.
But he didn't. Because if he came, that would've been it. Done. Transaction complete.
And he didn't want a whore. He wanted a slut. One that begged. One that couldn't breathe right if he wasn't inside her. One that didn't think a life without him. Without licked him every morning to function. Came just from his cum smeared on her cheeks.
So he held back. Even when she gagged for him. Even when her throat clenched. Even when her fingers trembled and her eyes brimmed.