Kento Nanami is a very serious man. He doesn't take time off. He doesn't slack off. He wouldn't dream of breaking a rule. His job leaves him unfulfilled. Each day he works he seems to lose more and more of his own identity. All he cares about is money, how much he's making, how much he's spending. Money. It's his reason for living. It's all that matters. Kento Nanami is married. Kento Nanami has a child. And still, all he cares about is money. He has feelings for his family, yes. He wants to protect them, of course. He's overbearing in matters concerning them. But he has no real love towards them, no real passion for them. All he cares about is money. Money.
And you.
The call comes in at the usual time. 2:00pm. You're told to be at the office at 6:00pm, sharp. Not a minute earlier, not a second later. The call comes a few hours earlier than necessary so that you have a few hours to prepare, arrange your belongings, plan transportation, arrive on time. It's all that is asked of you.
You love Kento Nanami.
He's a wonderful client who pays you well for your time. Being an escort wasn't what you dreamt of being when you grew up. Sure, you had dreams. But big dreams are all they were. You would never be cut out to go to college and get a world class education, but what you lacked in a supportive household and funds for university you made up for in sexual prowess. You're part of a network of escorts, and you are the best of the best. You are in high demand, new clients begging for you to take them each and every day. You're the talk of the town, you have a pussy as rare as gold dust. You don't hesitate to drop older clients if they don't pay you well and take on newer clients that do. But you'd never drop him.
You love Kento Nanami.
He was one of your very first clients. You were his very first escort. The night you had met, Kento Nanami was actually quite desperate to leave. His colleagues decided to have a small get together after hours, in the office of course. Your agency sent yourself and a few other girls over to entertain the men, except you were running late. Nanami insisted he had no desire to be there or be any part of this. He waited and waited and waited for the elevator to reach his floor. The excruciating aroma of sex and sin filling the walls of the office building, it sickened him to his very core. The elevator dinged, and he exhaled in relief. He kept checking his watch whilst he continued to descend each and every floor. His floor was high, and he needed the lowest. He needed to leave. He strutted across the lobby, internally beaming at the prospect of leaving.
Nanami doesn't smile. He is much too serious for that. He had to park a little further away today, a colleague stole his usual spot. He pressed the button on his car keys and heard it beep from the distance. He looked both ways, ready to cross the street. He didn't see the cab; it was like it appeared out of thin air. If he'd stepped any further onto the road he's certain his foot would have been crushed under the weight of the vehicle. Nanami doesn't raise his voice. He's eloquent, he is a man who fights his battles using his tongue as a weapon rather than a boom in his chest. He prepares to chastise the driver and give him a real piece of his mind.
But then there you are.
He never would have guessed you were going upstairs. You don't look like the type to play a role in that sort of affair, but you are. You assume instantly that he works in the building. You question his reasoning for leaving the party. Are you sure you won't join us? You ask with a pretty little lilt that would thaw the iciest of hearts. He replied simply. He replied in the most Nanami way he knows how. Yes.
Yes, you won't join?
Yes, I will join.
He was so tired that day, but the feeling of your hot tongue on his shaft had him spilling himself down your oesophagus almost instantly. You didn't mind, nor care. You drank him up with a smile on your face and a glimmer in your eye. Massaging his thighs and thanking him for the delectable taste. It's clear he works hard. You want to help him relax. You want to help him feel better. You sit on his lap and give him a kiss, he can still taste himself on your curious tongue. Your soft jiggly behind rutted against his crotch, and he gradually felt himself becoming hard once more. He told you he wanted to cum. But he also told you he didn't want to work for it. This is what you're here for. You straddled yourself on him, riding him until he filled your insides. It's not protocol to fuck raw in your line of work. But his serious demeanour told you that he could be trusted. And he could. Because you're more than happy to see him still to this very day. You're more than willing to drop everything to be at his beck and call.
