Cholo Tales
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"I Never Planned to Stay"
🕑 Added 2025-03-14 01:52:15 +0000 UTCEvery choom out there usually dreamed of the edgerunner life, becoming a legend and drowning in eddies.
Well, tough fucking luck, choomba.
Especially if you had the shit luck to be in Night City.
And Rebecca was both a badass edgerunner and living in NC.
Well, it wasn’t THAT bad, because she was a badass edgerunner with the best crew around and they had a well-deserved reputation. However, one thing that everyone seemed to forget was that gigs weren’t exactly a stable source of income.
Unless you wanted to end up flatlined on the streets because you pissed off the wrong gonks by doing a little too many gigs against a particular group. Too many chooms went out that way.
In other words, it was a very slow season for her crew.
And that’s how the shit scop hit the wall with a wet splat.
“What the actual fuck, Becca?!” Her annoying brother shouted from his room where he was modding some garbage tech. “That’s good eddies you’re wasting!”
“Good my ass!” Rebecca snapped back, rolling her eyes. The synthetic protein bar she’d just hurled at the wall had cost her fifteen eddies - fifteen! For what tasted like recycled kibble with artificial strawberry. The corpo asshole who marketed that crap deserved iron to the face.
No, every corpo deserved iron to the face.
She flopped back onto the worn couch, one leg dangling over the armrest while she twirled her handgun absentmindedly. Three weeks without a decent gig was making her trigger finger itchy. Maine had promised to call when something came up, but her phone had been dead silent except for Pilar’s constant nagging.
“You could’ve at least let me eat it,” Pilar grumbled, appearing in the doorway, still holding tiny screwdrivers. “Not like we’re swimming in eddies right now.”
Because they spent it.
Win big, spend big, what is the point of saving money if you might day tomorrow?
Well, now they were suffering the consequences of that mentality.
“You want that wall scop? Be my guest,” Rebecca replied, not bothering to look at him. “Probably tastes better after hitting drywall, anyway.”
She needed something to happen, and soon. Any more days cooped up in this apartment and she might just go to the combat zone and try her luck.
And that much idleness and nothing to do will eventually boil out.
Rebecca stared at her brother, her eye twitching. “You know what, you chrome-obsessed gonk? Next time you want protein, eat your fucking screwdriver!”
“Oh, real mature, Becca!” Pilar shot back, waving his hand dramatically.
“Maybe if you’d stop wasting eddies on your fancy shotgun shells, we’d have enough for decent food!”
“My shells?!” Rebecca leapt off the couch, landing with a heavy thud that made the neighbors below them pound on their ceiling. “That’s rich coming from Mr. ‘Ooh-look-at-these-preem-cyberhands-gotta-have-‘em!’”
“At least my upgrades are investments! What do you contribute besides attitude and bullet holes?” He adjusted something on the side of his goggles, probably zooming in just to be annoying.
“Who brought home the last gig’s eddies while you were jerking off to tech catalogs?” She grabbed a half-empty beer bottle from the table and hurled it at him.
Pilar ducked, the bottle shattering against the wall behind him. “Missed me, shorty!”
“I wasn’t aiming for you, dipshit! If I was, you’d be leaking coolant right now!” Rebecca stormed toward her room, shoving past him hard enough to make him stumble.
“Real nice, Becca!” Pilar yelled after her, his voice distorted slightly by whatever vocal filter he’d installed in his jaw implant this week. “Typical! When you can’t win an argument, just storm off!”
Rebecca spun around, flipping him both middle fingers. “Eat a dick, Pilar!” She slammed her bedroom door so hard that something fell off a shelf inside.
“YOU eat a dick!” he shouted back, his voice muffled through the door.
“I HAVE, AND THEY’RE BETTER COMPANY THAN YOU!” she screamed, kicking the door for emphasis.
After fuming for a few minutes, Rebecca yanked her door open to continue the argument, only to notice a flurry of papers that had been slipped under their apartment door. Most appeared to be spam – ads for the latest chrome, discount ripperdoc services, and screamsheet subscriptions.
“More junk,” she muttered, ripping them apart without a second glance. But a flash of red caught her eye – official paper, not the cheap stuff. She snatched it up, her heart sinking as she read.
FINAL NOTICE: RENT PAYMENT OVERDUE
“PILAR!” she roared, storming back into the living room, waving the red paper. “What the fuck is this?!”
Her brother looked up from his workbench, his hands pausing over whatever piece of tech he was tinkering with. Rebecca could see the light from his screen reflecting off his goggles as he turned toward her.
“What the hell are you talking about now?” The cybernetics along his jaw twitched as he spoke.
“This!” She shoved the paper in his face. “We’re a week from getting kicked out onto the street! I thought you paid the rent with the eddies from the Valentinos’ job!”
Pilar’s jaw tensed beneath his facial implants. He reached for his shard reader with his long fingers, frantically scrolling through something Rebecca couldn’t see. The slight whirring noise his hands made when he was nervous filled the silence.
“Shit. Oh shit,” he muttered.
“What?” Rebecca’s voice dropped dangerously low.
“I... might have...” he swallowed hard, the movement visible even with all his chrome, “entered the wrong wallet address.”
“You WHAT?!”
“It was an honest mistake! The input fields have forced autocorrect!” His big hands gestured at the reader as if it had personally betrayed him.
Rebecca grabbed him by the collar of his sleeveless vest, dragging him face-to-face. “So where are our eddies now, genius?!”
“Probably in some random gonk’s account,” Pilar admitted, with a forced smile. “Or the corporation’s general fund. Either way...”
“We’re fucked,” Rebecca finished, releasing him with a shove. “Completely and utterly fucked.”
She slumped onto the couch; the fight draining out of her as reality set in. They’d be out on the street in a week, all their stuff repossessed as some sort of shitty compensation.
“We could do some scavving,” Pilar suggested, pacing across their cramped living room. His chrome glinted as he gestured animatedly. “Hit up one of the combat zones, find some fresh zeroed guys….”
Rebecca grimaced. “Fuck that noise. We ain’t stooping to scav level. Besides, the good stuff gets picked clean in minutes and the scavs are fucking territorial.”
The entire cell would jump them and rip them to pieces, literally.
“What about auntie Wakako? She always has gigs.”
“Are you even using those fancy optics?” Rebecca scoffed. “She up to her neck with Tyger Claw biz. Some territorial shit with Maelstrom. She barely had time to tell me to delta when I called.”
Pilar slumped onto the couch beside her, his mohawk drooping slightly. “We could sell some of our stuff?”
Rebecca glared at him. “Like what? Your precious chrome hands? My shotguns? That’s how we make our eddies, gonkbrain.”
“Maybe a quick heist?” he tried again. “There’s that liquor store on 7th that—”
“And get flatlined by NCPD for what, a couple hundred eddies? Brilliant plan.”
They sat in silence for a moment, the red notice seeming to glow mockingly on their table.
She stood up suddenly, grabbing her jacket and checking that her iron was secure in its holster. “I’m gonna figure this out. There’s always courier work – packages that need moving, people who don’t ask questions. Endless supply of that shit in Night City.”
“Sis, those jobs pay peanuts—”
“Better than sitting here watching you stroke your chrome,” she snapped. “I’ll figure it out. We’re not losing this place.”
As she yanked open the door, she heard Pilar call after her, “Just don’t do anything stupid!”
Rebecca flipped him off without looking back. “Too late – I’ve been living with you for years.”
----------------------------------------------------------
Three days later, Rebecca sat slumped on a bench in Little China, staring at the cracked concrete between her feet. The neon signs above bathed her in shifting colors – pink, blue, green – but she barely noticed. Her shoulders ached from carrying packages across half of Night City and that included her chrome, and she was still short on eddies.
Way short.
Turns out, legit courier jobs paid even worse than she remembered. And the shadier ones that actually paid decent? All locked up by fixers who wouldn’t trust a solo like her because even if Maine’s crew had some heat, they were still one of the many crews in the city.
Meaning, not THAT special.
“Fuck.” She muttered, kicking an empty beer can across the sidewalk. A passing badge gave her a suspicious look, but she kept her head down until he moved on.
She checked her balance and with what the bastard managed to scrunch up, was not even half of what they needed. And they were even skipping meals.
Four more days until eviction.
They were completely, utterly fucked.
Rebecca stood up abruptly, hands flying to her pigtails as she yanked them in frustration.
“FUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCK!”
She paced back and forth in front of the bench, her mind racing through increasingly desperate options. They could try to squat in the apartment after eviction, but their shitty landlord had enforcers who would drag them out without a second thought and flatline them on the spot. Obviously, they would kill them if they tried, but that would put them on the NCPD shit list. They could ask Maine for help but that would drastically reduce their standing and Maine would probably just kick them out because he ain’t a charity.
HOWEVER!
However, there was one option left. The one she’d been avoiding thinking about for the past three days.
“Goddammit,” she hissed, kicking the bench hard enough to dent the metal. Her toe throbbed, but the pain only fueled her anger.
The Mox.
She’d have to go back to the Mox and beg for some quick work.
Rebecca stopped in her tracks, her shoulders slumping as the reality of the situation sank in. The Mox had been good to her when she was younger – before Maine’s crew, before she’d made a name for herself.
And she’d repaid them by storming out after a stupid argument, telling Susie Q exactly where she could shove her “pussy rules” and “dollhouse mentality.” The memory made her wince. She’d been cocky, riding high on her first few successful gigs with Maine, convinced she was too good for the club scene.
Rebecca checked her reflection in a nearby storefront window, trying to smooth her hair and wipe the grime from her face. She looked like shit – exhausted, desperate, defeated. Not exactly the image of the badass edgerunner bitch she liked to project.
But pride wouldn’t pay the rent. And the Mox always needed bodies.
“Fuck it.” She muttered, straightening her jacket and checking her weapons. “Time to eat some crow.”
The walk to Lizzie’s Bar felt longer than she remembered. Night City’s streets were crowded as always – suits rushing to meetings, junkies looking for their next fix, gangers marking territory.
As she approached the neon-lit entrance of Lizzie’s, her stomach tightened with a mixture of nostalgia and dread. The pulsing music, the familiar smell of synthetic alcohol and cheap perfume, it brought back memories both good and bad.
The bouncer at the door – a woman with chrome arms, pink, purple twin buns and a Mox tattoo on her neck – recognized her immediately.
“Well fuck me sideways,” she said, crossing her arms. “Look what the cat dragged in.”
Rebecca forced a smile. “Hey, Rita. Miss me?”
“Susie’s gonna shit bricks when she sees you,” Rita said, not moving from her position in front of the door. “Last I heard, you told her to choke on her own tit implants.”
“Yeah, well...” Rebecca shuffled awkwardly. “People say things they don’t mean sometimes.”
Rita’s eyes scanned her from head to toe. “You look like you’ve been through the wringer, pipsqueak. What brings you crawling back?”
Rebecca considered lying, coming up with some story about missing the old days or wanting to reconnect. But she was too tired for bullshit.
“I need work.” She admitted, hating how desperate she sounded. “Short on eddies. Figured Susie might have some jobs that need doing.”
Rita studied her for a long moment, then stepped aside with a sigh. “Your funeral. She’s in the back office.”
As Rebecca stepped through the doors of Lizzie’s Bar, the familiar atmosphere washed over her – the pounding music, the scantily-clad dancers, the mix of clientele ranging from corporate suits to street punks looking for a good time.
Hopefully, Susie Q was in a forgiving mood.
----------------------------------------------------------
Rebecca stared at her reflection in the cheap, pink-tinted backstage mirror, her expression tightening with fury. She yanked at the strings of her costume, trying to adjust the ridiculously tight black bunny outfit that hugged every curve of her body. The long bunny ears attached to her head wobbled with each aggravated movement.
“This is such bullshit,” she hissed under her breath, turning to check if her ass was fully covered by the outfit. It barely was and the fluffy tail didn’t make it any better.
Susie Q was still a complete bitch, though at least she hadn’t changed the Mox motto of helping a sister or brother out. But fuck her sideways for relegating Rebecca to private dancer and waitress duties with a shitty costume unlike the rest who just wore what they liked. It wasn’t that she had an issue with being scantily dressed – hell, she practically walked around Night City in what amounted to underwear to some gonks. No, it was this stupid fucking bunny costume that felt ridiculous and was so tight she could barely breathe.
The only decent thing was getting to wear her hair straight down instead of in her usual pigtails. Small fucking consolation.
Rebecca grimaced as she adjusted the fluffy white tail attached to her lower back. They’d even given her a dance shard to jack in so she wouldn’t make a complete ass of herself if some drunk corpo asked for a private show. The thought made her fingers itch for her iron, which Susie had promptly confiscated upon hiring her.
“Fuck that bitch,” Rebecca muttered, practicing her fake smile in the mirror before immediately dropping it. “Few days. Just a few days of this gonk show and we keep the apartment.”
She grabbed the small serving tray from the vanity and took a deep breath. The things she did for her idiot brother. If Pilar ever breathed a word about this to anyone in Maine’s crew, she’d put a bullet in his head.
As she reached for the door handle, Rebecca caught her reflection one last time and couldn’t help but laugh bitterly at the absurdity of it all. From badass edgerunner to cocktail bunny in less than a week.
Night City had a twisted sense of humor.
Rebecca stepped back into the main club, immediately assaulted by pulsing lights and thumping music. The dance floor was packed with bodies grinding against each other, while clouds of colored vape smoke hung in the air. Pills and shard chips changed hands openly, but most importantly, the large couch packed with gonks lost in their BD.
She sighed and made her way to the bar, dodging wandering hands and drunken patrons. The sooner she could start earning tips, the sooner this bullshit would be over.
“Two Flatliners and a Chromed Suicide,” the bartender shouted over the music, sliding a tray of colorful, smoking drinks toward her.
As Rebecca reached for the tray, a hand appeared from nowhere and snatched it away.
She whirled around with an annoyed “Hey!” only to find herself face-to-face with a male server wearing nothing but tight, shimmering purple boxers that left very little to the imagination.
“Honey, you ain’t serving drinks tonight,” he said with a dramatic flip of his hand. His voice was high and melodic, his movements graceful despite the crowded space. “Mama Susie decided to throw you a bone since you’re so strapped for cash.”
Rebecca crossed her arms over her chest. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means,” he leaned in conspiratorially, “you get to attend the VIPs, chiquita. Private rooms. Big tippers.” He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively. “And you even get to pick your clients. I never get to pick mine. Not like I need to.”
As he turned to leave, Rebecca noticed he was also sporting a fluffy white bunny tail attached to his boxers.
“Wait, what exactly am I supposed to—”
“Just be your charming self, linda!,” he called over his shoulder. “And try not to stab anyone unless they are into that!”
Rebecca stood frozen by the bar, her mind racing. VIP rooms. Private dances. She wasn’t some wide-eyed innocent – sex and fun were part of life in Night City – but there was a big difference between fucking and getting fucked.
“Motherfu—” she began, but was cut off by her new communicator.
“Problem, bunny girl?” Susie’s voice dripped with amusement. “Thought you wanted the big eddies. VIP clients tip better than the floor trash. Sometimes in the thousands, if they like you enough.”
“You know damn well this wasn’t what I signed up for.” Rebecca gritted her teeth.
“No? What exactly did you think ‘private entertainer’ meant?” Susie laughed. “Relax, princess. The Mox protects their own – no touching unless you want it, and Rita’s crew is watching every room. We respect consent around here, even if the rest of Night City doesn’t. But if you’d rather serve watered-down drinks for pocket change...”
The thought of another night of courier work – running packages across gang territories for scraps – made Rebecca’s stomach turn. And thousands in tips? She would earn the rent with a few of those and everything else would be for her to spend.
“Fine.” She growled into the communicator. “But I swear to god, Susie, if any of these gonks—”
“Then Rita will remove them.” Susie finished smoothly. “Permanently, if necessary. We’ve got your back, Becca. Always have. Now get that cute bunny ass to the VIP lounge and make me proud. Oh, and Rebecca?”
“What?” she snapped.
“Try smiling. This ain’t japantown.”
The line went dead, leaving Rebecca fuming. She took a deep breath, adjusted her ridiculous costume one more time, and stalked toward the VIP section at the back of the club.
She could do this. Butter them up and maybe go with a quick handsy, earn thousands of eddies and then say fuck you all before leaving.
Rebecca reached the VIP area, a row of private rooms with small windows in each door to preview the “merchandise” before entering. She tried peering through the first window, but cursed under her breath when she realized they were positioned well above her eye level.
“Fuckin’ asshole design,” she muttered, standing on her tiptoes and still coming up short. Whoever installed these clearly didn’t consider her type.
She noticed a sign on a few doors reading “Dock” and decided to leave those alone. Moving along, she found some rooms with open doors, revealing corpos jacked into BDs.
One room contained a fat corpo exec, sweating through his expensive shirt as he lounged on a velvet couch.
“Hard pass.”
Another held a short, balding man with no distinguishing features beyond his obviously high-end corporate attire. Nothing about him seemed worth the effort of playing nice for tips.
She gently pushed another door which wasn’t closed, only to find a howling bearded merc with a guy and girl… no, they were totally fucking. She rolled her eyes and pulled the door closed.
Least they could fucking do.
Growing increasingly frustrated, she moved to the next room and peered inside. Another corpo – but this one was different.
He sat alone, perched awkwardly on the edge of the velvet couch like he might bolt at any second. Tall and undeniably handsome, he looked to be in his mid-twenties with neatly styled blonde hair and a conservative gray suit.. No visible chrome, which was rather unusual because these guys liked to show off.
Most importantly, he looked completely out of place – nervous, fidgeting with his tie, glancing around like he’d wandered into a Maelstrom den by accident. His drink sat untouched on the table, and he kept checking the time on what appeared to be an actual physical watch rather than an implant.
A grin spread across Rebecca’s face, stretching from ear to ear.
Jackpot.
Corporate virgin to the club scene, probably dragged here by colleagues who’d since abandoned him. The type who’d overtip just to avoid seeming cheap, especially if she played her cards right.
She stretched her arms and with a confident push; she opened the door, startling the corpo who nearly jumped out of his expensive skin.
This was going to be too easy. Get the nervous wreck to spill his eddies, maybe even convince him to become a regular, and she could call it a night swimming in cash.
Time to turn on the heat.
She sauntered into the room, making sure to swing her hips just enough to draw attention to the ridiculous bunny tail. She could see corpo’s eyes widening before he straightened his posture.
“Well hello there, handsome,” she purred, closing the door behind her. “Looking a little lonely in here, aren’t you?”
“Well, I—” The corpo cleared his throat, his cheeks already flushing pink. “I’m just waiting for my colleagues. They’ll be back shortly.”
Rebecca laughed, the sound genuine despite herself. “Sure they will, dimples. Your ‘colleagues‘ probably went to find their own bunnies. That’s how it works around here.” She plopped down beside him on the couch, close enough to be friendly but not quite touching. “I’m Rebecca. And you are...?”
“Thomas,” he replied stiffly, fidgeting with his watch again. “Thomas Mercer.”
“Of course you are,” she grinned. “Let me guess... Arasaka? No, wait.” She studied his suit a little better. “Militech? You’ve got that buttoned-up look they love so much.”
And much to her delight, his blush deepened. “Biotechnica, actually. Research division.”
“Oooh, fancy,” Rebecca teased, reaching out to straighten his already perfect tie. She felt him tense at her touch. “First time at Lizzie’s, Tom? Can I call you Tom?”
“It’s Thomas,” he corrected automatically, then seemed to catch himself. “But Tom is... acceptable. And yes, this is my first time. My team wanted to celebrate somewhere special since downtown is packed.”
“And then ditched you,” Rebecca finished for him. “Corpos, always the same. Want another drink? You’ve barely touched that one.”
Thomas glanced at his untouched glass. “I suppose another wouldn’t hurt.”
“Nova!” Rebecca grabbed his tablet from the table, quickly navigating the menu. “What’s your poison? Let me guess, something boring and expensive.”
He actually smiled a little at that. “I was trying whiskey. Whatever you recommend would be fine.”
Rebecca ordered two Silverhand Specials, she didn’t know what that drink was, but it was the most expensive one so it was the best choice and set the tablet down. “So, Biotechnica. You cook up new designer drugs or what?”
“Nothing so exciting,” Thomas replied, relaxing slightly. “My department works on agricultural adaptations.”
“Saving the world one genetically modified potato at a time, huh?” She moved a fraction closer, noting with satisfaction how his eyes flickered briefly to her legs before snapping back to her face.
“Someone has to,” he said, sounding more genuine than she expected.
The drinks arrived via a small automated delivery slot in the wall. Rebecca grabbed them both, handing one to Thomas and clinking her glass against his.
“To saving the world,” she toasted, taking a sip and watching him do the same. He winced slightly at the strength of the drink, which made her grin. “Too much for you, dimples?”
“No, it’s—it’s fine,” he coughed slightly, and Rebecca couldn’t help but laugh.
“Damn, you’re fucking adorable,” she said, enjoying how he blushed even deeper at her choice of words. “I bet you don’t get out of that lab much, do you?”
Thomas took another sip, more carefully this time. “Not really. Mostly just between work and home.”
“Well then,” Rebecca stood up, setting her drink aside. “Let me give you the full Lizzie’s experience. How about a dance while we wait for those drinks to kick in?”
She was just making that up.
“Don’t worry, I don’t bite. Unless you want me to.” She winked, reaching up to tap the side of her head where the dance shard was slotted. Her fingers lingered for a moment, drawing his attention to the faint glow of the implant. “Just sit back and enjoy the show, Tom.”
Before he could protest further, Rebecca activated the dance shard. The room seemed to dim as the pre-programmed routine took over, her body moving with a fluid, hypnotic grace that was almost otherworldly. The shard’s algorithm guided her every motion, emphasizing the curve of her hips, the arch of her back, and the subtle sway of her shoulders, a tilt of her head here, a sly smile there, try to make the mechanical movements better.
Thomas sat frozen, his knuckles white as he gripped his drink. His eyes followed her every move, darting between her smirking lips and the way the bunny suit clung to her figure. Rebecca noticed his gaze and leaned into it, letting her hair—straight and loose for once—fall over one shoulder as she spun slowly in front of him. The neon lights of the room caught the shimmer of the suit, casting a soft glow on her skin.
“See something you like?” she teased, her voice low and playful. She dropped into a crouch, her hands sliding down her thighs as she tilted her head up at him, her red eyes gleaming with mischief. The dance shard guided her back up, her movements smooth and deliberate, but Rebecca added a little extra sway to her hips, just to watch him squirm.
Thomas swallowed hard, his drink forgotten. “Rebecca, I—”
“Shh,” she interrupted, placing a finger to her lips as she stepped closer. She could feel the heat of his nervous energy, and it only fueled her confidence. With a flick of her wrist, she traced a line down her neck, her eyes never leaving his. “Relax, big guy. It’s just a dance.”
She spun away, her hair fanning out behind her, before turning back with a slow, deliberate strut. The bunny suit’s high-cut design emphasized her legs, and she made sure to highlight them, crossing one over the other as she leaned against the edge of the table. Her fingers trailed along the surface, her movements slow and deliberate, as if daring him to look away.
“Enjoying yourself?” she asked, her voice dripping with mock innocence. She knew the answer already. The way his eyes followed her, the way his grip tightened on his glass, the way he shifted uncomfortably in his seat—it was all the confirmation she needed.
Suddenly, Thomas burst into laughter – not the nervous chuckle she’d been getting, but full-blown, shoulders-shaking laughter that caught Rebecca completely off guard.
“I’m sorry,” he gasped between fits of laughter, setting his drink down before he spilled it. “I just can’t take it anymore.”
Rebecca deactivated the shard mid-spin, her routine coming to an abrupt halt. “What the fuck?”
Thomas wiped tears from his eyes, his entire demeanor transformed. The nervous, uptight corpo was gone, replaced by someone much more at ease. “Your face! You really thought I was buying all this crap, didn’t you?”
“Buying what?” Rebecca crossed her arms defensively, suddenly feeling exposed in her ridiculous bunny outfit.
“This whole act,” he gestured vaguely at her. “The dancer routine, the ‘oh you’re so fascinating’ bit. I recognize those dancer shards – Standard Doll Issue, Model TD-7. They haven’t updated them in years.” His accent had shifted subtly, the proper corporate enunciation giving way to a more confident, posh tone.
Rebecca’s eyes narrowed. “The hell are you talking about?”
“You’ve clearly never used one of those before tonight,” Thomas continued, leaning back comfortably on the couch. “The timing was off, and you kept fighting against the programmed movements.”
Rebecca’s hand instinctively moved toward where her gun would normally be, only to remember Susie had confiscated it. “Who the fuck are you?”
Thomas grinned, loosening his tie*. “Exactly who I said – Thomas Mercer, Biotechnica. But I’m not the fresh meat you pegged me for.” He winked. “I will give you points for effort, though. Your little butter-up routine was definitely better than what some of the other girls have tried. There was actual personality there.”
Rebecca stood rigidly, heat rising to her face – partly from embarrassment, partly from anger. “You were playing me this whole time?”
“Let’s call it mutual entertainment,” he shrugged. “You were trying to extract maximum eddies from what you thought was a naïve corpo virgin, and I was curious to see how far you’d go with it.”
“You fucking gonk.” Rebecca spat, taking a step toward the door. “I’m out.”
“Wait.” Thomas called after her. “Don’t go yet.”
Rebecca turned, her eyes narrowed dangerously. “Why the fuck shouldn’t I? Or better yet, why shouldn’t I call Rita to beat your sorry ass?”
Thomas didn’t look concerned. Instead, he simply snapped his fingers. Immediately, Rebecca’s personal link chimed with a notification. She glanced down and froze when she saw the transfer alert: thousands of eddies deposited directly into her account.
“What the—” she started, staring at the notification in disbelief.
“Just a small tip for the entertainment,” Thomas said casually, finishing his drink. “Consider it appreciation for your effort. And there could be more where that came from if you’re willing to play a little longer.”
Rebecca frowned, suspicious but intrigued. That much for a few minutes of awkward dancing and shitty talk was already more than she’d made so far. And he was offering more?
“What exactly are you talking about?” she asked, not moving from the doorway but not leaving either.
Thomas set his empty glass down and leaned forward. “A bet.”
“A bet?” Rebecca repeated, crossing her arms. “What kind of bet?”
Thomas smirked. “I know you’re not those boring broken joytoys. Hell, you’re not even close to being a doll. You’re a merc. And that means you’re not fake. You’re real. And that’s... intriguing. Very intriguing.”
Rebecca raised an eyebrow, her lips curling into a half-smile. “Flattery’s not gonna get you anywhere, gonk.”
“Not flattery.” He said, leaning back slightly. “Just an observation. And because I’m curious, I want to see if I can get a real reaction out of you. No masks, no pretense. Just you.”
She rolled her eyes, already seeing where this was going. “Let me guess—you want me to strip and dance some more? Or maybe you’re hoping I’ll sit on your lap and call you ‘big guy’ or ‘daddy’ as I ride your chromed up dick? Sorry, not sorry, to disappoint, but I’m not here to fuck your sorry ass. Besides, pretty sure you’d finish the second I breath.”
She was expected the exec to get flustered and angry and hurl insults but instead Thomas merely chuckled, unfazed by her bluntness. “Not looking for a quick fuck, Rebecca. Just... a little experiment. A deep massage, let’s call it. My hands, your body. Let’s see if I can get under that tough exterior of yours.”
Rebecca’s smirk faltered for a split second, her arms tightening across her chest. “A massage? You’re kidding, right?”
“Dead serious,” he said, his tone light but his eyes sharp. “And here’s the deal: if I can’t get a real expression out of you—if you don’t make a sound, don’t move, don’t cum for 5 minutes—I’ll triple your tip. But if I win... well, let’s just say I’ll consider it a personal victory.”
His grin was unreadable, annoying. The deal was enticing; triple the money could more than make the rent. It was intriguing and challenging, fucking crazy to be true, especially considering this guy couldn’t even look at her straight without blushing.
She chewed her lip, weighing the odds and weighing her options.
“Alright, asshole.” She said finally, fully locking the door behind her. “I’ll bite.”
The corpo gave her an infuriating smirk and beckoned to her. “Come closer, bunny.”
Ass.
She walked towards him, and took a seat next to him and an arm draped around her shoulders, pulling her closer. Now, they were too fucking , but she already agreed.
He cupped her chin and leaned in where he could see his green eyes. “So tell me, what would it take to make you tick?”
She felt her cheeks getting warmer, and she hated herself for it. She pushed him away. “Don’t know. Not like you can make me. Besides, you won’t win, anyway.”
He laughed. “We’ll see about that, won’t we?”
Rebecca feigned a yawn, deciding to just get comfortable. Get it over with, really, before she developed a headache from boredome. This was probably just some stupid high society game he played, and no doubt it will be nothing she’d have any interest in.
Rebecca leaned back, her head resting on the soft couch, struggling to decide if she should enjoy the moment or push him away. Thomas reached out, fingers tenderly moving through her hair. Each stroke was a mix of comfort and unease, his fingers finding the back of her neck, tracing slow circles that sent involuntary shivers down her spine. A sigh slipped past her lips, but she wasn’t sure if it was from pleasure or discomfort as his nails gently scraped her scalp before returning to trace lines on her.
Like fuck, how does just that felt that strange?
That’s when the bastard leaned in to plant a kiss on her forehead, the same annoying hand deliberately tracing the curve of her neck with a possessive touch. And his other hand crept up her thigh with a maddening slowness, finally resting on her breasts as if staking a claim.
She refused to let this affect her. Those other girls might fall into the charade, but not her. She was flesh and blood, not a puppet on strings. Even as his fingers slipped into her tight suit, the latex yielding under his insistent pressure until her nipples were exposed to the surprising biting cold, she held firm.
Or so she thought.
A quiet moan escaped her lips as his thumb brushed over the sensitive peak, a sound she stifled with her hands clamped over her mouth, determined not to fuck herself over with another stupid noise and lose easy cash.
“That easy?” he taunted with a mocking laugh.
Rebecca’s eyes burned, glaring daggers at him, completely unamused. She drew a deep breath before she removed her hands to retort. “That didn’t count. I was startled.”
“Of course, of course,” The asshole dismissed with a chuckle.
Fuck, now she was actually annoyed, more than irritated. She had to get a grip on herself.
Never one to admit defeat, Rebecca vowed that no matter what the gonk did, she’d resist those shorts minutes.
His hands trailed downwards, ever so slowly, moving smoothly across her exposed skin until he reached her ass and get a good squeeze of her cheek.
“Ah!” she yelped, her voice escaping in a surprised cry before her hands flew up once more to stifle the sound, pressing firmly against her mouth.
Absolutely not. She would not give him the satisfaction.
A low growl rumbled from deep within her chest as she fixed him with a steely glare. He barely blinked, his focus unwavering, a wide and stupid grin plastered across his face, as if he’d just won the jackpot of some grand game.
This insufferable bastard!
Shit!
Rebecca forced herself not to react, to remain completely still as his hand stopped exploring her body.
A single finger, like a hook, snagged the back of her suit and peeled it down, baring her more than she had ever been before this night. The cool air nipped at her newly exposed skin, her body fighting off a chill while also battling the heat that flushed her from head to toe. Her breath hitched as he suddenly cupped her breasts, kneading them with possessive warmth and drawing her onto his lap.
“A bit on the small side,” he hummed in appreciation, giving them a light squeeze. “But like everything in this world, it is an acquird taste.”
“S-shut up...” She managed to whisper, biting her lower lip to suppress any further noises.
He dipped his head, his breath warm on her neck as he planted soft, deliberate kisses from her ear to her collarbone. Each press of his lips sent shivers coursing through her. His tongue traced the hollow of her throat, slow and wet, while his thumbs grazed over her tits, taking advantage of how hard they were as he gave them a pinch.
“F-Fuuuck!”
Her voice erupted, louder than she intended, a primal mix between a moan and a groan. Her hand slapped over her mouth with urgency, but a soft gasp still escaped as his hand ventured boldly to the sensitive inside of her thighs. She barely stifled another groan as his fingers made contact with her slit, tracing it with firm, deliberate caresses.
“Already soaking, aren’t you?”
What?
Fuck you too.
Her back arched violently as those same fingers traced maddening, infuriating patterns around her core. Even with her hands pressed over her mouth, she couldn’t stifle her voice; his relentless teasing grew faster, applying the pressure that drove her wild, pushing her to the brink.
“That face makes me want to tease you more,” he whispered, staring at her face the whole time. “Like to see how long you can hold out.”
Shit, at least she was fucking holding out. So there. In that aspect, he had to lose, no matter how long he dragged this fucking thing out. Surely the time was almost up.
Too bad her body was betraying her, her hips moving involuntarily, craving more of this asshole.
Traitor!
Rebecca clenched her jaw, trying to suppress her rebellious thoughts, and spat, “Oversize virgin corpo prick...”
“Oh? That’s harsh coming from a girl like you,” he retorted, a teasing edge in his voice as he continued his relentless advance. “Especially from someone who moans so deliciously.”
“I-grrr-I didn’t moan!”
“Sure you didn’t...” he murmured, his fingers descending with deliberate slowness, finding her swollen button and rolling it with maddening precision.
A desperate yelp tore from her throat, stifled by her trembling hands. If this gonk wanted to play hard, then hard they would play. Rebecca’s breath came in ragged gasps as she fought to regain control. She would make him burn out first, she swore it.
Focus. Deep, steady breaths.
Good.
More.
Shit.
The slickness was undeniable as his finger pressed firmly against her entrance, teasingly dipping just inside, igniting a fierce heat within her.
Fine. Fine. Fine. Just fine, damn it. She knew his game. Probably. Maybe. And so far, she was winning. Well, she was almost, struggling to keep her focus with every ounce of her will. If she could just stop herself from losing, from making a gonk out of herself, she would win. As simple as that.
“AH.” Damn it, that burst out louder than she’d intended.
The bastard’s grin widened, those piercing emerald eyes drilling into her very soul. Rebecca’s fists itched to wipe that smug expression off his stupid face.
But god help her, her body refused to cooperate with her brain. Suddenly, his movements quickened, rubbing her core with relentless speed. Her breath came in ragged gasps as her body writhed beyond her control. She felt the pressure mounting, her toes curling with the intensity.
Damn it, not here, not now. He was provoking her, seeking a reaction, and damned if he would get one.
She fought desperately to stifle a scream when his fingers slipped into her clenching depths. Fingers curling and pumping into her slick entrance, relentless and unyielding. Another whimper broke free as he continued his assault, pushing her even closer to the brink.
Her brows furrowed as she squeezed her eyes shut, desperately attempting to resist the intoxicating pleasure that threatened to overwhelm her senses. It felt as if the entire universe had shrunk to a pinpoint of intensity within her, her mind consumed by the electrifying ecstasy, her body stretched to its limits, muscles quivering with tension.
A gasp tore from her lips as his expert fingers discovered a spot so sensitive it set her nerves aflame, her hands clenching the cushions with such force she was sure they would shred beneath her grip. Just a little longer, she told herself, just a little more—she could withstand this; she wouldn’t be conquered so easily.
Yet her resistance was fleeting, the tension rising with relentless intensity, higher and higher, until suddenly she shattered...
Surrendering to the inevitable, she let go, allowing herself to be swept away with a loud cry.
“AAAAAH!” The cry that burst forth was one of unadulterated ecstasy, a lightning bolt of sheer bliss shooting through her, compelling her back to arch as the climax surged over her in relentless waves. Her legs jerked uncontrollably, clamping around his hand as her body convulsed. It seemed an eternity before the waves finally ebbed, leaving her utterly spent, her body collapsing back into the bastard grasp, chest heaving as she struggled to catch her breath.
Gradually, the world came back into focus for Rebecca, the room’s dim light sharpening into clarity. Thomas reclined on the couch, a triumphant smirk etched across his lips. “It looks like I win, Rebecca,” he announced with a teasing lilt as he projected the timer.
2 minutes remaining.
Rebecca’s mind felt scrambled, her thoughts a jumble as she attempted to process his words. Her brain was still rebooting, struggling to piece itself back together after that. Despite the haze, it was the kind of thrill that left her feeling alive, the kind she hadn’t experienced in what seemed like forever.
Her heart pounded like a relentless drum, each beat echoing in her ears as if trying to drown out all other sounds. The room swayed around her, a soothing whirl that made her feel lightheaded and breathless.
She barely noticed when Thomas’s hands, surprisingly gentle, lifted her and helped her prop herself against his chest. Her hair a total disarray, obstructing her vision, while her forehead glistened with beads of sweat.
Suddenly, she felt a hand cradle her chin, tilting her face upward. Through the fog of her thoughts, she recognized the cheeky glint in the bastard’s eyes as he leaned closer, clearly intending to go for kiss.
The realization jolted her like a splash of icy water. In an instant, Rebecca snapped out of her stupor, surging forward with her mouth open, ready to bite that smug grin right off his face.
The bastard recoiled just in time, her jaws snapping shut on nothing but air, her momentum nearly causing her to topple forward from her aggressive reaction.
“Whoa!” Thomas exclaimed, retreating with his hands raised in mock surrender. “Feisty, aren’t you?”
“Fuck you!” Rebecca spat, straightening herself up and adjusting her ridiculous bunny outfit as she tried to get away but falling on her knees. “Try that shit again and not even Trauma team will save you!”
“You need to work on your expressions a bit, but I enjoyed them all the same, especially when you were so hard trying to not moan.” he simply chuckled, unfazed by her threat. “But I’ll consider my bet fulfilled. We’ll be seeing each other again, I hope?”
A sharp knock at the door and a deep voice interrupted them. “Car’s outside, Mr. Mercer.”
Thomas Mercer rose up to his feet, donning his jacket and checking his hair one last time. He smirked, slicked back his hair. “Hope to see you tomorrow, Rebecca.”
Rebecca just flipped him off.
He snorted at that, grinned and gave her a light salute as he walked out of the private room.
Seconds later, he disappeared and closed the door behind him, leaving the room eerily empty and quiet.
With a low growl of frustration, Rebecca pushed herself to her feet, legs still unsteady, and downed the remnants of her drink in one swift motion.
That smooth, smug motherfucker!
Of all the scenarios she had imagined for tonight, being outwitted by a slick corporate golden boy hadn’t even crossed her mind.
There went her rent money, slipping through her fingers like sand. But she still had tomorrow to scrape together the rest.
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AN: So I ended up liking this way too much as I kept writing this that it ended up developing into a complete story which I want to continue writing. Of course not a full story like the other three but a short story around 6 chapters or maybe a little more.
Comments
Nate
Fuck yeah.
