"I'm paying $7,000 an hour to have you here... It's going to be worth it" she croons, almost flirtatiously.
...an hour? How many is she planning?
No time to think! You have to avoid those nails brushing ever so lightly on your belly-fur. You try to lift yourself off the chair, only managing to avoid one nail at a time. They scrape so gently over your belly, leaving you to buck and contort and bend and fail and giggle and succumb to those gently little tickles.
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