Raj and Kiki grade their candidate

"She's the one, Raj. I know you feel it."

Kiki’s voice cuts through the night air on the second-story balcony. Raj doesn’t answer right away. He stands at the rail with a glass of whiskey, staring out at the dark ocean. A single light still burns in the former candidate's guest cabin.

Kiki steps closer. She is still in the sexy garter belt and stockings from the audition, the thin straps framing her bare hips. She's only added a light shirt, her small, perky breasts poking through. No panties. The cool night air moves across her skin.

"Why did you tell her a few candidates had taken the full fifty?" Kiki asks. "Only two virgins ever chose the cane. Neither of them made it past twenty-five."

Raj takes a slow drink. "I needed to put her in her place. She was already walking around like she’d won something. I wasn’t going to tell her how special she was."

Kiki studies his profile for a long moment. Then she says, "But she is special. And she’s still too good for you."

The words land. Something tightens in his chest. Kiki is the only person that he trusts completely. She's also the only person that would dare speak hard truths to him.

He turns. In two steps he's on her. He spins her around and pushes her forward against the balcony rail. He slides his hand up her shirt to cup her small breasts, running his fingers across the hard nipples. He reaches up and grabs a fistful of her black hair and tugs. Their eyes meet for a second, long enough to tell Raj they want the same thing. He lets her hair go and grabs her hips.

Raj shoves her feet apart with his shoe. Kiki doesn’t resist. She arches her back to present herself, pushing her ass toward him. He lines up and drives into her in one long thrust.

Kiki gasps, the sound sharp and sudden. Her fingers tighten on the rail.

She is still soaked from the evening. The heat of her is immediate. Raj sinks deeper, feeling the tight, silky clutch of her wet pussy close around him. Kiki is a hot, gripping sleeve that squeezes and flutters with every inch he gives her. He groans under his breath at the perfect resistance, the way her body yields and then holds him. She's still the tightest pussy he's ever had.

He sets a hard, steady rhythm, hips slamming against her ass. The wet sound of it carries in the quiet night. Kiki’s small breasts sway with each thrust. She's dominant with everyone else, sharp-tongued and controlling, but with him she goes soft and open. He is the only man who can bend her like this, the only one she allows to use her this way.

"You’re still wet," he says against her ear, voice rough.

"She turned me on too," Kiki answers, breathless.

Raj fucks her harder at that, driving deep, feeling every ripple of her cunt around him. He trusts her judgment more than anyone’s. When Kiki says a woman is different, she is usually right. That knowledge sits in the back of his mind even while he is buried inside her, using her body to burn off the sexual energy Ramya left unresolved.

He finishes with a low, controlled sound, holding her tightly against the rail as he comes. For a few seconds neither of them moves. Then he pulls out, steps back, and tucks himself away. Kiki remains bent over the rail for a few seconds longer, because she knows he likes to look. Her shirt hangs loose around her elbows. Between her slightly parted thighs, her lips are parted and gaping slightly, wet and shining in the moonlight.

The sight holds him for a long moment until she slowly straightens. He smiles appreciatively and lets his eyes travel over his sexy Japanese assistant. She is sharp, loyal, and beautiful. He feels no guilt about using her. She is extremely well-paid, she loves the work, and she has never once pretended otherwise.

He returns to his drink. The ocean is black under the moonlight. "She took the money. It's over."

"Yes, but for her church. She didn’t keep a cent. Probably the candidate that is least interested in your money. And she still refused to fuck. She took fifty lashes so her first time could be with you. That tells you something about her character. It's okay to marry her as a virgin. She more than proved she can please you sexually."

"She didn't want to remain a candidate either."

"Go to her now. Apologize. Tell her the truth about how special she is. And then fuck her. Don’t let someone else break her in."

Raj doesn’t answer.

She leans against the rail beside him, still half-naked, the marks of his hands faint on her hips. He just pumped a massive load into her, and it begins to ooze out and stick to her thigh. It shines in the moonlight as Kiki stands with parted legs, inviting his view.

Raj watches it for a moment. He never finishes inside other women. Too many of them would see a pregnancy as leverage to force a marriage or secure a payout. With Kiki there is no calculation and no risk. She is the only one he trusts enough to leave his seed in.

"Someone else will marry her soon," Kiki says. "She won't stay on the market long."

She knows just where to hit him. Jealousy. But Kiki is wrong about one thing. Ramya will not get an arranged marriage easily. She is too tall, too successful, too fit, too Westernized. Most traditional families will see her as difficult. It's incredibly unfair.

If she doesn't pop her cherry, eventually she'll be able to at least settle for a loser Indian that is nowhere good enough for her. But she's so horny, somebody will fuck her soon. Then her arranged marriage dreams will truly be over.

Kiki glances sideways at him, then finally says something helpful: "You still have to work with her. Her company isn’t going anywhere, and neither is she. Leave the door open. See what happens. She’s angry about the caning... for now. Trust me. She’s got a submissive streak she doesn’t fully understand yet. She’ll come back to you."

Raj finishes the whiskey and sets the glass down. He looks once more toward the dark stretch of cabins, then back at his assistant.

"You’ve always given me good advice," he says. "I’ll keep the professional relationship open. We’ll see where it goes."

He doesn’t say more. He doesn’t need to. Kiki hears the decision underneath the words.

The night air moves between them, cool and salt-scented. Somewhere out on the water a distant light blinks and disappears.