Sooner Or Later

Clara’s POV

I flinched as the slap landed hard across my ass. His squeeze became tighter, and with every passing second, I winced in pain. I guess that was how he registered pleasure to himself.

It felt like Zeus had struck me with his lightning bolt. At some point, I wondered if my ass had turned into a fluffy sponge.

Trying my best, after taking a deep breath, I began swaying my hips across his middle, my hands resting on either side of the sofa.

He let out a low gasp, and I could tell he was enjoying it.

I could feel him getting harder. Every second, it felt like I was seated on a massive rod threatening to make its way into my panties.

“Ooh.. yeah… that’s it… that’s what I want. You’re good at this,” he grumbled in satisfaction, his head resting on the leather sofa, both his hands holding my waist softly.

But I wasn’t satisfied. Inside, I was burning with anger. The only thing I could think of was ending this hell—ending everything I was doing here. I wasn't comfortable. I was in fear, my body trembled, and I was wrestling with an anxiety that was already tearing me apart from the inside.

He grabbed my ass and squeezed it more, gently raising my skirt. I pushed his hands away. I wasn’t a harlot. I was a stripper he forced me to be—a prisoner trying to pay off a debt I never even benefited from.

“You know what happens if you refuse to do your job right,” he growled, his brows furrowed. A menacing, ghastly gasp of his was so horrible that it felt like a lion breathing hard on my neck.

I hesitated, then slowly let my hands fall, allowing him to raise my skirt. His hands moved toward my panties—and that was when I snapped and decided to act.

“I can’t take this anymore,” I said, standing up, my voice trembling but angry.

“Please… I’m not a sex worker. I’m a stripper you forced to work for you, so cut the crap and come to your senses.”

And what came out from this mysterious man was a deep chuckle.

It was as though I was just bluffing.

“You thought I brought you here to play games with me, you bitch? Paying off the debt is part of satisfying me, or have you forgotten I make the rules here?” he barked, with anger spilling all over his face.

I froze, just standing, staring at him. I couldn't move or speak.

“Now get back here. Finish what you're supposed to do,” he demanded.

Slowly, I returned to his lap, positioning myself again. He slipped his hand into my bra, squeezing my nipple. My face twisted in anger—but I couldn’t do anything.

He grabbed me by the neck while he breathed warmly into my ears. His hands moved around my body, from my breasts to every point of sensation, but I wasn't feeling any bit of it. All I wanted to do at the moment was satisfy him as he had requested and get the hell out of this room. Since he hadn't demanded sex, all he wanted was a session for me to strip for him.

After I was done, he tossed an envelope in front of me. I stared at it before lifting my gaze to him in confusion.

“Take the money. Use it to take care of yourself,” he casually said as he adjusted himself on the sofa. “And as for the debt—I’m deducting ten thousand dollars from it.”

I blinked. Ten thousand?

That would leave twenty-eight thousand dollars to pay.

I had only managed to raise two thousand after months of work—and he just slashed a quarter of the total like it was nothing.

“Go, scaredy-cat,” he added with a wave of his hand. “I’ll call for more when I need it.”

“More?” My lips couldn't form the words; my imagination only did.

I grabbed my heels and rushed out of the room like the scaredy-cat he had referred to me as.

When I finally got home, I still couldn’t believe it. The money in that envelope was more than he had even mentioned.

Yes, he assaulted me.

Yes, he touched me in ways I hated. But that kind of money? It almost didn’t feel real.

He gave me money for myself, too—not just toward the debt. I sat on the edge of my bed, stunned. For months, I stripped, and I never saw this kind of payment.

Now I understood why he was called the boss.

I’d never been like this—not even once. But a strange new feeling was creeping into me. A sliver of hope. Could I really be free soon?

If I kept pleasing him like that, maybe… just maybe, I could finally pay off the debt.

I gasped in relief and let my head fall back onto the bed.

Maybe this nightmare would end sooner than I expected. And with all this tug-of-war in my head, I finally drifted to sleep.

The next morning, a loud bang blasted on my door that forced me to jolt awake.

“Who the hell is banging on my door this early?” I sluggishly tried to stand as I spoke with dizzy eyes.

And when I reached for the door and opened it, I froze.

It was no other than Derick.

But why? Why had he come here? How did he know where I live?

Confused, I asked, “What’s going on? Why are you here?”

Even as a stripper, I knew this wasn't the time for work—it's mostly at night—and seeing Derick on my doorstep didn't make a single bit of sense.

He watched me, not even a word wanting to come out from him, and I became even more confused. Just as I wanted to ask again, he answered, “The boss wants to see you.”

“Why? It’s not even time for me to report to the club based on our agreement,” I replied furiously.

“I don’t give a damn about your agreement. Don't forget the boss makes the rules and you are to stick to them. If he wants to change them, you have no choice or say in it. Get that through your brain.” Derick became even more serious and his voice became colder.

I was baffled. Why now? Why this early?

“If you don’t come willingly, I will have no choice but to drag you there myself,” he added. And he was becoming more aggressive.

I finally nodded, swallowing my fear and forcing a smile across my lips. “Please… give me a few minutes to change.”

“There’s no need for that,” Derick disagreed, thinking I was trying to play tricks on him and end up running.

His glare was terrifying. I knew better than to argue.

Still in my pajamas, I walked beside him to a sleek black SUV. Two security guards opened the door for me. I got in. Derick sat next to me like a watchdog, as though I was going to jump off the window and run.

I became even more curious.

“Where are you taking me?” I asked, trying to keep my voice calm.

No answer.

The driver said nothing. The other man in the front seat—dressed in a sharp black suit—stared straight ahead. Not a word. Not a glance. It was as if my question didn’t exist.

I sat in silence, heart pounding. Something about this felt very, very wrong.