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The Deal Maker conclusion
The Deal Maker
Conclusion
"Go on."
Claire leaned back against the couch, one leg bent, the other stretched out in her full cast propped on the cushions, wrapped in a long, wool sock that reached just below her knee. The soft knit clung to the hard fibreglass, a contrast of textures that sent a ripple of something dangerous through me.
Her casual look in her yoga pants moulded to her body, hugging every curve, and the thin T-shirt she wore did nothing to hide the fact that she wasn't wearing a bra. The way the fabric clung to her hard nipples, teasing at what lay beneath, made it nearly impossible to focus on anything else. No bra. No panties. Just her, effortlessly sensual, oozing a lazy kind of confidence that made my pulse stutter.
I swallowed hard, my throat tightening. "I pushed her."
A slow blink. Then another. Claire didn't flinch. Didn't gasp. She just parted her lips slightly, like she was tasting my confession. Then, with the barest flick of her tongue, she wet them.
"Hmm." The sound was soft, thoughtful. Not judgment. Not a shock. The silence stretched between us, thick, electric.
I had expected anger. Maybe disgust. But Claire only tilted her head, watching me like a cat watches a mouse, curious, patient, almost amused. A slow and sexy smile played at the corners of her lips, teasing, unreadable.
She shifted slightly, her movements deliberate. The long, rigid shape of her cast stretched the fabric of her yoga pants, the snug material outlining every unforgiving inch of fibreglass beneath. From her thigh down to her mid foot, the cast remained unyielding, forcing her leg to stay straight except for the bent at the knee, the fabric clinging to it like a second skin.
The lower half was wrapped in a thick, wool sock, adding another layer of contrast, soft and warm against the hard, surface beneath. When she moved, the cast pulled taut against the yoga pants, emphasizing its full length, its unrelenting presence. She adjusted it against the cushions, exhaling slowly, her fingers skimming the smooth line of her immobilized leg, as if testing its weight. Then, finally, she met my gaze again, eyes dark, full of something I couldn't quite name.
"Do you regret it?"
I should. I should regret everything. But I didn't. I shook my head. "No."
Claire exhaled, slow and knowing. Then, with an ease that made my stomach tighten, she reached out and took my hand, guiding it over the smooth fabric of her yoga pants. Down, down, until my fingertips brushed against the sock that I removed and rubbed her exposed toes.
"You wanted this," she murmured, her voice low, sultry. Her smirk was wicked, teasing, laced with something so dark, sensual and delicious. "You wanted to break her leg, didn't you?"
I couldn't answer. Because she already knew. And worse...I think she loved it but then she shocked me.
"I'm undercover, I'm a cop."
The words should have hit me like a hammer, but I had already suspected. It was the way she carried herself, the way she had slid so seamlessly into my world. She wasn't just another woman caught in my orbit, she was here with purpose.
"Investigating you and your company for unethical practices." Her voice was measured, but I could see the flicker of something else in her eyes. Regret? Or hesitation?
Claire shifted forward. The cushions dipped beneath her weight as she braced herself, hands pressing into the couch for leverage. For a moment, she hesitated and then, slowly, deliberately, she moved, she pushed herself upright, the long, rigid shape of her cast straining against the snug fabric of her yoga pants. The outline was unmistakable, the fiberglass molding to her thigh, her knee locked in place. She sucked in a quiet breath as she adjusted her weight, her muscles trembling slightly from the effort.
Reaching for her crutches, she gripped them with practiced ease, fingers tightening around the handles and then she lifted herself fully, balancing on her good leg, her cast hovering just above the floor. The crutches clicked into place as she straightened, her lovely chest rising and falling beneath the thin fabric of her t-shirt and with no brassiere, just the soft curve of her breasts beneath cotton.
Her gaze locked onto mine "But then you broke my ankle," she said, her fingers tightening against the grips, her knuckles white. "My tibia."
Running a hand through my hair. "So, this was all part of the job?"
"It was. At first."
She shifted slightly, adjusting her crutches, her cast hung stiff and heavy, the weight of it forcing her to keep perfect balance, to move deliberately, controlled. "You were never just a case to me, but that doesn't change why I'm here."
I pushed off my chair, closing the space between us in slow, measured steps. Just close enough to watch her inhale sharply, her lips parting.
"So, what now? Will you arrest me?"
"You have enough evidence, don't you?"
Claire's grip on her crutches tightened. "Yes." But she didn't move. She was hesitating. Or maybe... she was deciding. Her eyes locked onto mine, searching, calculating. And then, she stepped back. Not much, just enough to create space. Just enough to tell me that, for now, I was free.
I moved closer. Close enough to feel the warmth of her body, to catch the subtle hitch in her breath. Her cast hovered between us, a barrier and an invitation all at once. The fibreglass was solid, unyielding, pressing against my thigh as I reached for her.
She didn't step back this time. Instead, she met me halfway.
My lips brushed against hers, testing, waiting for resistance. There was none. Claire melted into me, her hands gripping my shoulders, her crutches wedged awkwardly between us until she let them drop. They clattered to the floor, forgotten, as she pressed herself closer.
Her mouth was warm, hungry, tasting of hesitation and something darker, something she wasn't ready to say out loud. I could feel the tension in her body, the way she shifted against me, balancing on one leg, the hard curve of her cast molding against my calf. My hands roamed, tracing the sleek line of her yoga pants, following the rigid outline of her cast, the heat of her skin beneath the fabric.
I picked her up and put her down slowly on the couch and murmur against her lips,
"Your tibia isn't broken."
Her breath caught. I ran a slow hand down the length of her cast, fingers pressing, trailing lower, to the curve of her calf. "It's a stress fracture at most," I continued, my voice steady, teasing. "You didn't need a full leg cast, a boot would have been enough, I'm sorry."
Claire didn't flinch. Didn't deny it. She just smiled. OMG she knew all along...
She rolled over me and then she kissed me again, harder this time, her tongue pushing into my mouth, taking control. I groaned, gripping her hips, feeling the way she pressed into me, the way her cast dug against my leg, pinning me in place.
When she pulled back, her lips were swollen, her breath uneven. But her smile remained.
"I know," she whispered, her hand and fingers between my legs rubbing and teasing.
Then, with a wicked gleam in her eyes, she leaned in close, her voice a sultry promise against my ear.
"But you will need your own cast and crutches when I'm done with you Boss."
Claire's smile deepened as she pressed her body into mine, her breasts, her cast heavy against my thigh, pinning me down. Her fingers between my legs moved in slow, teasing strokes, her breath warm against my skin.
And then, just as my mind clouded with pleasure while I came, I saw the flash of metal.
With a flick of her wrist, she extended her police baton to its full length. The sharp, metallic snap echoed through the room, sending a spike of adrenaline through me.
Before I could react, she swung.
An incredible crack split the air as the baton slammed against my right leg. Blinding pain exploded through me, sharp and absolute. My scream was strangled, caught somewhere between agony, disbelief and pure sexual pleasure. I felt the bones give way, the brutal snap of my tibia, the crunch of my fibula fracturing under the force.
I rolled on the couch, gasping, my vision swimming with red-hot agony. My leg throbbed, the unnatural bend in it making my stomach churn.
Claire didn't flinch. Instead, she leaned in, straddling me fully now, her cast pressing into my fresh injury, making me groan in pain.
"Shhh baby," she murmured, her fingers trailing up my chest, her lips hovering just above mine.
And then she kissed me. Deep, slow, consuming. Her tongue claimed my mouth, demanding, savouring, as if my pain only fed her hunger. I shuddered beneath her, my body torn between agony and the raw intensity of her touch.
When she finally pulled back, she licked her lips, her gaze dark with something primal holding on to my free penis.
"There," she whispered, brushing a hand over my sweat-dampened forehead. "Now we will match."
The last thing I saw before my vision blurred was her satisfied red lips smiling licking my penis clean.
The end
K
Wednesday, March 12, 2025
The Deal Maker chapter 10
The Deal Maker
Chapter 10
She snapped another picture but this time she let the straps of her black dress slip off her shoulders, revealing just the barest hint of her collarbone and the delicate curve of her neck. She leaned slightly on her crutches, her cast extended in a way that accentuated her petite frame. The dress clung to her curves, and the combination of her rigid cast against the soft fabric of the dress created a striking image. She tilted her head slightly and gave her phone a sultry, playful look.
She quickly reviewed the photo, it was provocative but still elegant, just the right balance. She sent it to him with the caption, "How's this for crossing a line, boss?"
My reply came almost instantly: "You're killing me, Claire. That cast is driving me wild. I want to run my hands over it, feel the texture, and kiss every inch of your skin that's still free. You're teasing me, and I'm loving every second of it."
She chuckled softly, a flush of heat spreading through her legs. "Careful, boss. You're starting to sound like you're forgetting I'm your employee."
"Right now, all I see is a breathtaking woman who's completely in control. Keep going, Claire. Keep pushing those boundaries."
Her heart raced at his words. She pulled the dress down a little further, letting it hug her waist exposing her firm breasts. She adjusted her pose, leaning slightly against the wall for support, her crutch resting beside her. She snapped another photo, this time with her lips slightly parted, her eyes holding a look of quiet confidence.
The caption she sent this time was simple but loaded: "Empowered, vulnerable, and all yours... for now."
My response was immediate, my tone more intense: "You're playing with fire, Claire. I want to be there right now, tracing every curve of that cast, feeling the warmth of your skin, and making you forget everything but the sound of my voice."
She bit her lip, her body responding to his words. She was enjoying this game of teasing and anticipation, but she also felt a growing ache for something more. She decided to up the ante.
Slowly, she slipped the dress off entirely, letting it pool at her feet. She stood there in nothing but her lingerie, the contrast between the soft lace and the hard fiber of her cast sending a shiver through her. She positioned herself carefully, using only one crutch for balance, and took another photo. This one was more daring, more intimate. Shadows played across her body, highlighting her cast and the delicate curves of her figure.
She sent it with the caption: "Boss, you're making it hard to focus on my recovery. What would you do if I fell, broke my leg again and end up in another 6 weeks in a cast and crutches ?"
My reply was raw and unfiltered: "Before they recast your broken leg, I'd kneel in front of you, my hands trembling as I traced the edge of your long leg. I'd kiss your broken ankle, then work my way up, leaving no inch of your skin untouched. You'd feel my breath on your thigh, my lips on your hip, and I'd make sure you knew exactly how much you're driving me crazy."
Her breath came in short, shallow gasps as she read his words. She could almost feel his hands on her, his lips trailing up her leg. She leaned heavily on her crutch, her body trembling with desire.
"You're dangerous, boss," she typed back, her fingers shaking slightly. "But I think I like it."
"Good," I replied. "Because I'm not done with you yet. Keep going, Claire. Let me see more of you. Let me see how far you're willing to take this."
She hesitated for a moment, then decided to push the boundaries even further. She set her phone on the stand again, positioning it to capture her from behind. She leaned forward slightly, her cast extended behind her, the lines of her tight ass creating a mesmerizing silhouette. She glanced over her shoulder at the camera, her expression...pure innocence.
The photo was perfect, very sensual, daring, and undeniably captivating. She sent it with the caption: "How's this for pushing boundaries?"
My response was immediate: "You're a sexy Claire. Every curve, every line, that cast... it's driving me wild. I wish I could be there to show you just how much you're affecting me. But for now, keep teasing me. Keep giving me more."
Her face lit up with a smile, as she shook with expectation. The sexual dance of flirtation had her spellbound, and she couldn't help but wonder where this seductive game would take her. With a deliberate slowness, she struck a pose, snapping a photo from a new vantage point, her stand so inviting. As she dropped her crutches, she leaned back against the edge of her desk.
"Like what you see Boss?"
"Fuck yes," I responded, sending a picture of my fully erected penis, already straining against my pants. "This is what you do to me."
Feeling desired, she took another picture, her lips slightly parted, tongue licking them. "I want you to touch yourself,"
"I'm in a meeting you sexy devil." She laughed softly, her eyes drawn to the picture of him.
"Good. I want you to be so hard for me...Sir. Imagine right now my long red cast on your lap, rubbing against your penis just the way you like it."
"I wish I could taste you," I replied, sending a picture of his face close to the screen, eyes filled with needs.
Taking another picture of her black lace thong. "I'm so wet for you," she confessed, her breath quickening. "I want you to come for me. Imagine it's now my mouth around your penis, sucking you deep."
"I'm close. So close," I admitted.
"Come for me. Come hard." I sent a picture of my penis, my hand moving fast, body tensing as I climaxed, spilling onto his stomach. Ending the call, she gazed at the pictures she'd sent, she couldn't wait to see him again.
Claire's invitation came later on that night.
"Come in," she murmured as she crutched away from the front door, the slow, deliberate movement only making her more irresistible and reminding me of her photos.
I followed without hesitation, my pulse thrumming with anticipation. The space was exactly as I imagined, minimalist, sleek, modern and yet undeniably intimate. The dim lighting cast soft shadows over the furniture, accentuating the deep red of her cast as she settled onto the couch, stretching her injured leg across the cushions.
"Make yourself comfortable," she said, but we both knew I wasn't here for comfort.
I hesitated for only a moment before stepping closer. My body was tense, my thoughts clouded with need. This wasn't just about her anymore. It was about me. About the weight I had been carrying, the obsession I had fought so hard to keep buried.
I ran a hand through my hair, exhaling sharply. "Claire... I need to tell you something."
She arched her brow, curiosity flickering behind her glasses, her hand sliding along her cast.
"Go on."
I swallowed hard, forcing the words past the lump in my throat. "I..."
The Deal Maker
Conclusion to come
K