AllFreeNovel
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He was a superhero.
Gucci made his cape.
His Batmobile a Ferrari.
The line edged forward. A lone, harried cashier in a wrist brace fumbled to scan and bag the treadmill of groceries trundling towards her. The woman glanced back at him and smiled.
Of course she did.
He was a high value man.
He watched her stack the contents of her cart onto the counter. The bill rang higher and higher; he could see the digital readout of the monitor. $66.09, $83.70, $99.02. She scanned the milk, the detergent, the eggs. The bill jumped over one hundred, then came the cereal and paper towel, $191 flashed and she wasn’t done yet. The scanner beeped; the scanner booped. The grocery total grew plump.
Barret had given her two hundred dollars in a horrid mismatch of fives, tens and ones. He’d traded with one of the maintenance guys working on the elevator in his building to get those flimsy, soft greasy bills instead of the crisp, fresh ones he normally received.
The final frozen dinner was scanned and placed in a plastic bag. “$308.24” the cashier reported.
Barret gazed at Liza’s ass while she struggled to count out the money. The bills were wadded, folded into each other, and when she smoothed them down next to the card reader, they sprang back into their crumpled form, obscuring their value, making her lose count.
Someone behind Barret sighed in annoyance. The cashier clucked her tongue, eyebrows raised. The supermarket lights grew hotter. Liza gave him a furious look, but all he did was smile sympathetically.
He wanted to hear her say it.
They’d rehearsed a bit in the car, and she kept saying “you’re so weird,” but she seemed into it, even suggesting that he walk around the store while she fake-shopped so that they would cross paths every so often, building the tension. Whenever they were in the same aisle, she’d find a reason to bend over to grab something from the bottom shelf, angling herself towards him while making a concentrated effort to ignore eye contact.
Until she was in produce and caught his gaze while she let a pomegranate drop from her hands, so she could sink to her knees and look up at him, sticking her tongue out slightly.
A bit of dirt was still on her knees, he noticed, openly and brazenly looking her over.
Finally, after long, furious moments of social agony, Liza said: “I don’t have enough money.”
The cashier was nonplussed. “Okay,” she said. “We can put some of this back, it's not a big deal.”
Liza’s expression towards him was acidic in its venom. The embarrassment was getting to her, even through the role play.
The facade was breaking.
Cue the soaring, triumphant music. The fanfare, the trumpets. Woodrow Barret was here to save the day. He leaned forward. “Excuse me,” he said loudly. “How much was it, total?”
They both answered, neither of them sure who he was speaking to. “308” said the cashier.
“308-twenty-four”. Liza added.
It was hefty production getting his wallet out. He opened the inside of his suit jacket and reached for the billfold bound in the skin of a gorgeous extinct creature and pulled out four hundred dollar bills. His type of money. Crisp. Sharp enough to give you a papercut. “I’ll cover all of it,” he said graciously.
“Wow, that's so nice of you!” the cashier said, beaming.
“It is just so nice,” Liza said, a bitter touch of sarcasm in her voice that was meant only for him.
“Of course.” He handed them over and smiled at Liza. “Can I help you take them to your car?”
“That would be wonderful, thank you.” Her voice took on the false over politeness of lawyers and salesmen.
He handed his water over to be scanned and was delighted to receive many ratty ten-dollar bills in return. The cashier blushed and stammered thanks when he selected another hundred dollars out of his billfold and handed it to her, telling her it was their secret.
Liza was at the end of the counter, throwing her bags into the cart, glaring at him.
Barrett decided he would stuff the money in her mouth while she bounced on his cock later.
