HAYATO
I have her. I finally have her. Exactly on my terms.
I have trouble believing this, even as I rise from the hotel couch and come to stand in front of her.
Her eyes are cast downwards, reminding me yet again of a Japanese girl…even though she so obviously is not one.
I thought I had lost her. I spent nearly an entire day believing I might never see her again. But then I opened my Berluti messenger bag to find her drawing pad inside.
A peace offering? A “go away” that really meant “try again?” I could not be sure.
But even then, I tried to resist the temptation. Seeing her again wouldn’t change our separate views on relationships. Wouldn’t get her back into my bed on my terms. And “California Dreamin’” had finally stopped looping in my head.
So I sent Declan to deal with the return of the pad. Only to have him show up a few hours later. With her. The woman I couldn’t stop thinking about, no matter how much I’d tried over the last twenty-four hours.
She needed something from me, and I desperately wanted something from her. So I made her a deal. True, my samurai ancestors are unlikely to reward me with any prizes for nobility after my actions here today.
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.
“Hai.” I grip the arms of the chair, combatting the urge to touch myself as my eyes settle on her curvy body.
More hesitation. Then she raises her eyes to the ceiling and begins removing her clothing. Quickly, as if she’s responding to a dare.
Soon, I go from resisting the urge to stroke myself to biting back a smile. Kristal’s “strip” is very, very different from the women I usually hire, most of whom could perform a full undressing routine to music if asked.
She pulls on one sleeve, then the other to gracelessly take off her red sweater. Her bright red Doc Marten boots aren’t so much slipped off as tugged. Then she rather comically hops around in her dark green leggings to get them off in a standing position.
“Sorry,” she mumbles when she nearly falls over while pulling off the last leg.
I don’t answer. Can’t answer. The urge to laugh? That has disappeared along with all the water in my suddenly dry throat.
The sight of Kristal in nothing but a simple white cotton bra and panty set makes me wonder why lingerie companies don’t use more women like her to advertise their wares. The organic material fits like a second skin, struggling to contain her generous curves. And even more arousing than that, there’s a damp patch at the crotch of her panties.
“You are already wet.” The words come out as both an observation and an accusation.
She doesn’t answer. Just clamps her lips and looks away.
I’m grateful for her shyness. It means she doesn’t see how much it takes for me to keep my voice level as I say, “Take off the rest, please.”
“Wow…” she says, voice breathless as if I’ve asked her to run additional kilometers after finishing a marathon.
But she complies. She divests herself of her underwear in the same clumsy manner as her clothes. Then she squirms underneath my gaze, her wide hips shimmying as she shifts from foot to foot.
I will have to instruct her on how to undress for me properly—also buy her some proper lingerie for the job.
But if she thinks her discomfort will stop me from looking my fill, she is sorely mistaken. I take my time, my eyes lingering on her plump breasts before lazily dropping down to the space between her legs. Unlike most of my American escorts, she’s unshaven down below. I like the way her arousal glistens in her springy hairs under the room’s light.
My cock pulses. Done with whining and on to threats of what will happen if I don’t get it inside this woman.
“You will get in the bed, please, and present yourself on your hands and knees.
It’s as if I’ve unexpectedly ended her prison sentence. She all but flees to the bed without a second of hesitation. Getting into position, she sticks her lush bottom into the air and turns her head away from me. I can tell her easy acquiescence is as much an excuse to turn away from me as it is a concession to my request.
I don’t mind her eagerness to hide her face from me. At least in this position, she is little more than an ass and pussy. Less dangerous. I still remember how easily I fell apart the first time with her. How I lost control and never quite managed to get it back.
Just another escort. That is what I tell myself. What I try to imagine as I pull a condom out of my back pocket and get undressed.
Coming to stand behind her, I recite the rest of the instructions listed in all of my anonymous escort agency files. “I prefer no movement when we are having sex. I would like for you to stay still no matter what I do. Without any sound, please. Completely passive.”
In other words, the opposite of the first night we had sex. I watch her closely to see how she’ll respond.
“Okay…” she answers. Her is voice trembling.
Fear or anticipation? I’m not sure, and I can’t bring myself to care. Those instructions issued, I finally allow myself to…
Her hands fist the covers when I push in, all the way to the hilt. A stifled gasp escapes, but other than that, she doesn’t make a sound.
I cannot say the same. A groan slips from my mouth, long and guttural. Being back inside her feels even better than I anticipated. Like coming out of the cold into a ramen shop with a fireplace on a winter’s day.
On a winter’s day…
The song that didn’t stop playing inside of my head until the moment I saw her again comes back full blast as I start thrusting into her tight heat.
There are quite a few reasons I’ve come to prefer this position combined with my completely passive instructions the best. It allows me to concentrate on coming without the distractions of high-pitched (Japanese girls) or too lewd (American girls) chatter. Under these conditions, I can do and imagine as I please.
The position had come in especially handy during the many months I spent trying to purge the memory of Kristal with meaningless sex. But now, there’s no need for my mind to wander. The object of my obsession…she’s right here. And it’s very nearly my undoing.
Sooner than I want, an ominous tingle rises from my groin, warning me of things to come. Usually, I make sure my escort climaxes before she gets into position. That way, there’s no need to feel further obligated when I come.
But I was so eager to get into Kristal that I pounced on her too soon after she pulled off her clothes.
Cursing myself, I fall over her back and find the front of her pussy with my hand.
“Come. You must come now,” I say, unable to achieve a polite tone as I tell her this.
She falls to her forearms under my command, disobeying my order not to move as she shoves her face into the crook of one arm. Then her entire body begins to tremble, quaking with her silent orgasm, just as I’ve commanded.
So responsive…she’s so responsive to everything I do and say.
I fall over the edge just a few moments later, my dick kicking as I empty into the condom with a too-loud yell.
Then…then I pull away. Stunned and shell-shocked.
How? How had I still lost control so quickly? Even after forcing her to bend to all my rules?
She is allowed to talk now, but I don’t tell her that as we collapse onto the bed, side by side. Instead, I bask in the sound of her rapid breathing and wonder if she enjoyed that as much as I did. Then I berate myself for caring either way.
She’s just an escort. Just an escort…on a winter’s day.
Trying to muster up enough energy to take a shower. I glance at the glowing clock on my nightstand. It’s a bit after midnight. So just after 5 pm in Japan. Either way, I only have ten days with her now. Will ten days be—
I roll out of bed with an abrupt jerk before I can fully finish asking myself that question. “I will take a shower, then you will, too, please.”