Their heated rhythm was suddenly shattered.

The door had opened without a knock.

A figure stood frozen in the threshold. She was slender, impeccably dressed in a tailored blazer, high-waisted trousers, glossy stilettos, and long silver earrings that caught the light. Makeup flawless, hair swept into an elegant updo. A fashionable ladyboy in every sense.

Egon’s eyes narrowed. Recognition hit him like a cold blade.

Barbara.

Vienna’s so-called "best friend." The same scheming cheat who had manipulated the boutique’s sales records for months, quietly siphoning thousands from Vienna’s accounts while playing the loyal confidante.

Barbara’s perfectly lined eyes widened to saucers the moment she registered the scene: Egon still half-buried inside Vienna, their naked bodies locked together on the couch, his thick shaft glistening and pulsing as fresh semen slowly leaked from where they were joined. Vienna’s thighs trembled, slick trails of white already dripping down her inner legs.

"What... What the hell are you doing, Vienna?" Barbara’s voice came out sharp but deliberately hushed, terrified of drawing the attention of the other employees working just beyond the office walls.

"Get up. Now!"

The command snapped Vienna out of her post-orgasm haze. She moved on instinct, pushing herself upright with shaky arms.

The moment Egon slipped free, a thick gush of cum poured from her swollen, reddened pussy, splattering audibly onto the hardwood floor in pearly strings.

Plop... plop... plop...

His 6.1-inch cock, spent after flooding her so thoroughly, finally softened and hung heavy between his thighs, still shining with their combined fluids.

Vienna stood there swaying slightly, legs unsteady, cheeks flushed crimson, one hand instinctively moving to cover herself.

But it was far too late. The evidence was already pooling at her feet.

Barbara’s gaze darted between them: the dripping mess on the floor, Vienna’s dazed expression, Egon’s unashamed stare that pinned her in place like prey.

For once, the silver-tongued manipulator had nothing clever to say.

Egon slowly rose to his full height, not bothering to cover himself.

Instead, a dangerous, lazy smile played on his lips.

"Barbara," he said softly, almost pleasantly. "You picked a very bad time to drop by unannounced."

He stepped forward like a wild predator, closing the distance until he loomed just inches from her.

"Tell me... Did you come to steal more money? Or were you hoping to catch Vienna in a compromising position so you could blackmail her later?"

Vienna’s brows furrowed at his sudden accusations. She usually had full trust on Barbara, but now his words made her think over seriously.

Did Barbara really stole money behind her back?

Barbara’s throat worked. She took a single step back, heels clicking nervously.

"I—I didn’t, Vienna. This boy is lying—"

Egon tilted his head, smile vanishing.

"Oh really? Shut the door behind you," he ordered "We’re going to have a very long talk. All three of us."

His eyes flicked to the puddle on the floor, then back to Barbara’s pale face.

"And you’re going to clean that up. With your tongue. Unless you’d prefer I call the law enforcers about the embezzlement charges I already have documented."

Barbara’s knees visibly buckled.

The door clicked shut.

--

Barbara’s Backstory:

Barbara wasn’t always the polished, silver-tongued manipulator who slinked through Vienna’s boutique like a fox in a henhouse.

Born as Benjamin in a gritty suburb of Eastern Border of The Kingdom, early life was a battlefield of rejection and reinvention. Her parents, strict mining workers clinging to outdated traditions, saw her budding femininity as a curse rather than a gift.

By age 12, she’d stolen her mother’s lipstick and heels, practicing poses in front of a cracked mirror while dodging her father’s belt. School was worse: bullies cornered her in bathrooms, calling her "freak" and worse.

But Benjamin, soon to be Barbara, learned early that survival meant outsmarting the world, not fighting it head-on.

At 16, she ran away to the neon-lit underbelly of the city, where the drag clubs and underground scenes pulsed with life.

There, she met her first mentor: a aging queen named Dragomir, who taught her the art of illusion, makeup as armor, charm as a weapon.

"People see what you make them see," he’d say, puffing on a cigarette.

Barbara honed her look: sharp cheekbones enhanced with contour, outfits scavenged from thrift bins but styled like high fashion.

She had done several magical surgeries funded by odd jobs and the occasional con.

By 20, she was fully Barbara: a vision of androgynous elegance, turning heads in clubs where the rich slumming it paid handsomely for companionship.

But beauty alone didn’t pay the bills.

Bucharest’s economy was crumbling, and Barbara’s dreams were bigger than street corners as a whore. She migrated west, landing in Vienna’s fashion district through a shady scheme.

Posing as a distant relative of a boutique owner, she charmed her way into entry-level jobs, first as a stock clerk, then a sales associate. That’s where she met Vienna: the naive, trusting noble heiress whose boutique screamed "easy mark."

Vienna saw a kindred spirit, a stylish confidante with impeccable taste like hers.

But Barbara saw opportunity.

The thefts started small: fudging a receipt here, pocketing golds from a "lost" sale there. Manipulation came naturally; she’d learned it from years of dodging prejudice.

"Why struggle when you can play the game?" she’d tell herself, wiring money back to a hidden account for her final surgery or that dream mansion.

But greed grew. By the time she altered the sales records en masse, she’d siphoned enough to fund a lavish double life: designer clothes, secret rendezvous with wealthy patrons who adored her "exotic" allure.

Deep down, though, cracks lingered.

Barbara’s charm masked a well of bitterness: abandoned by family, exploited in her youth, forever an outsider in a world that fetishized her without accepting her.

Stealing from Vienna wasn’t just about money; it was revenge on the nobility, the ones who never had to fight for their identity.

Yet, in quiet moments, guilt flickered. Vienna had been kind, almost sisterly.

But survival trumped sentiment.

Now, standing in that office doorway, face-to-face with Egon’s unyielding glare and Vienna’s betrayal-tainted eyes, Barbara felt the walls closing in.