I know that. And I don’t care. My obsession with her had become what my American employees might call a “shit show.”
But that stops now.
I have her where I’ve wanted her for nearly a year. There’s a deal in place, and my first order of business is to get this obsession…to get myself under full control.
I think of telling her to take a shower. My preference for pre-coital cleansing is well-documented in the files of most of the escort agencies I use. But then I dismiss that option as a patience test my body won’t be able to pass in its current state.
She still does not understand how attractive I find her. Most likely, she believes the arrangement I’ve insisted on with her is only about my ego…the fact that I woke up to see her gone before I was ready to dismiss her. She is not altogether wrong about that. Many of my actions and my future plans stem from proving something to myself.
However, this is not exclusively about my ego. The thought of her taking a shower, all that water running down her bountiful curves runs through my head, and my cock throbs, straining so hard, it makes an imprint against my pants leg.
Iie…this is not merely about my ego. If she looked up from the hands she has clasped on top of her knees, she would quickly discover that.
There will be no shower. Not this time, at least. My cock is growling with hunger.
Without further preamble, I unbuckle, unzip, and pull myself out. “Kristal-san. If you would.”
Only now does she glance up, and her eyes widen at the sight of me. Her reaction makes me feel lewd. Like the stereotypical perverted Japanese businessman so often depicted in both Eastern and Western media. But I tamp down the feeling.
Our night together back in January was an anomaly. This time around, there must be no confusion. No passionate kissing or exceptions to my rules. I am the client, and she is the woman I must get out of my system.
No relationships, I silently remind her and myself as I wait for her to fulfill my request.
A moment of hesitation…then she tentatively takes me in her hand, studying my uncircumcised length for many intent moments. Has she ever been with someone uncut before?
Something nasty and green hardens my stomach at the thought of her holding another man as she is holding me. Or maybe, as inexperienced as she is, she’s never seen one before and is disgusted by it.
That thought also fails to sit well in my stomach. If she is repelled by me, I don’t know how to respond to that. My belly knots with frustration and regret that most of my sexual experiences have been transactional. For the first time in years, I wonder what my life…what I might have been like if Satomi hadn’t taught me such a hard lesson about relationships.
But just as I’m beginning to ponder this question, her mouth closes around my length. My breath seizes, and my head falls back as hot, wet sensation engulfs my cock.
Her execution is clumsy. She doesn’t stroke the base of my cock as a real escort would, just holds me steady. But her instinct is spot on. She doesn’t stop until her mouth meets the base of her hand, and chikusho…my mind very nearly blanks out at the sight of her lips sliding up and down my shaft as her mouth provides red-hot suction.
At first, it feels good…unbelievable. But I soon find myself frustrated.
This isn’t enough, my cock whines. It wants inside of her. Deeper…as deep as I can get.
I pull out with a barely contained growl. “Go to the bedroom, please.”
“Okay.” She swipes the back of her hand across her now very wet lips, and the sight makes my body hum with anticipation.
“Do you…do you mind taking a step back?”
Until her shy question, I don’t realize I’m standing too close for her to stand up.
I put my rigid length back into my pants, then force myself to step away and give her enough room to stand. But my eyes stay on her as she rises and heads toward the bedroom.
The sway of her hips mesmerizes me. Before I even know what my legs are doing, I’m following in her wake. Like a panting dog.
The room beyond the double-hung high view doors is sufficient but much smaller than what I’m accustomed to for travel accommodations. A Korean brand flat screen rests on top of a slate gray dresser, and the bedcover is a turned down navy comforter.
I drop into a chair placed just beyond the doors. “Undress, please.”
“You want me to strip? Right now?” She turns to face my chair, biting her lip as if this instruction pushes some boundary my request for a blow job did not.