Chapter 1 — A Welcome Guest - Part 1 (1)

"Claire Lee. A guest has arrived."

"Sis. It's not my turn yet."

"He's asking for you by name."

"Who is it?"

"You know... David Kim, the one who only asks for you."

I had just finished with a client and was exhausted, barely given time to rest—yet at the mention that it was David Kim asking for me, my fatigue vanished, replaced by a quiet thrill.

"Hello, Sir."

"Been well? You look even more beautiful than before."

"Really? You're looking healthy too, Sir."

We always begin like this—polite, almost tender greetings—like a secret couple deeply devoted to each other, despite the truth of our arrangement.

"Sir, please change into the lounge pants and lie down comfortably."

"Feels like my luck's turned. Not having to wait and still getting Miss Claire all to myself. No other guests?"

"I've been free this whole time. You're the first, Sir."

I didn't mention I'd already seen two clients that day. Instead, I gave him the answer he wanted, helping him lie back gently, covering him with a thin blanket, then placing a warm towel over his face.

Next, I began massaging the nape of his neck and shoulders—David Kim looked to be in his mid-thirties—and carefully kneaded the tight muscles. As I worked, his hand slipped down, creeping under my skirt.

"Oh my!"

"Tsk. Wearing all these things—garters, stockings—your pussy’s gonna start having problems."

"Oh! Sir, you too..."

His fingers lazily traced over my hips and thighs, stroking and teasing through the fabric of my stockings and garter belt, though he didn't stop. I consciously adjusted my posture to encourage his arousal, while my hands diligently massaged his face and applied pressure to his scalp to ease his stress.

After replacing the hot towel on his face, I pulled his hand from under my skirt, neatly trimmed his nails, and washed his hands thoroughly.

It was a necessary precaution—so nothing unpleasant might touch my pussy later. But David Kim spoke again.

"I'm clean. Just came from a bath. I only need a massage."

"Oh, alright. I'll get everything ready, Sir. Let me start with the steaming."

"Good. I'll be right back from the restroom."

I tidied the space and filled a basket with fresh hot towels for the steaming. By the time he returned from urinating, cigarette in hand, I waited until he finished smoking, then moved behind him to massage from the nape down his spine.

"Here, lie face down, Sir."

Once he was settled, I removed his undershirt. Without disturbing the neat arrangement of the room, he lay down with practiced ease.

Then I peeled off his pants, yanking his trunk underwear down completely. Beneath his buttocks, nestled between his thighs, his fist-sized testicles hung dark and heavy.

"How do you, Sir, maintain such a great physique without any body fat?"

"You think it happens on its own? Didn't you tell me you swim every morning, Miss Claire?"

"Yes. I go out at five and swim until six."

"Amazing. I practice at the gym from six for an hour, and even that's not easy."

I spoke as I massaged his tired muscles before beginning the steaming.

"Come here."

Knowing exactly what he wanted, I crouched beside his head, positioning myself so he could easily remove my undergarments.

Lying face down, he reached out with both hands, first hooking his fingers under the waistband of my stockings, tugging gently once or twice as if savoring the feel, then slowly peeling them down.

"Wasn't it 48kg you said you weighed?"

"Oh! You remembered? Honestly, I've barely ever gone over 52kg."

"You really take care of your body, Miss Claire."

"You're not so bad yourself, Sir. What are you talking about?"

"Tsk. Garters are always such a pain to take off."

"You're the one being difficult, Sir."

As he hooked his fingers into the rubber band of my garter belt, I briefly tensed my body on purpose—letting him savor the moment—then slightly lifted my hips to make it easier for him to pull it off. I, too, felt a quiet excitement rising.

"To be honest, this—seeing you in stockings and garters—is when I get the most turned on."

I usually wore this fully layered outfit to keep other men from groping me and making a mess of me, leaving me drained.

But with David Kim, I had long since given silent permission. And though he only came about twice a month, I found myself secretly looking forward to his visits.

Not that he tipped generously—he never gave more than the usual—but if he did, I'd feel like a cheap whore selling myself for extra cash, and that sadness kept me from ever showing any greed.

Once, David Kim even said to the madam:

"If the other girls stopped whining for tips and served with the same devotion as Miss Claire, I'd come here every day. But some days I get here, reserve her, and wait two hours? How can I visit often like that?"

In truth, over thirty clients asked for me, including David Kim—but more than half were perverts who enjoyed tormenting me.

At first, the madam had quietly resented how, whenever someone asked for me, she'd ignore the other girls idly waiting around. But after seeing how I still served every guest with care, even while suffering at the hands of those freaks, she started scolding the others:"Just try to be half as good as Claire."

The girls took it as stress, though. Miss Park, who usually kept her distance from me, muttered once:

"Claire gets all the attention because she spreads her legs for them. Girls like me who follow the rules just end up losing out, even here."

But as Miss Park implied, I never freely gave my pussy to just anyone.

David Kim was a freak among freaks—but beneath it, I could read a quiet consideration for me. And so, without realizing when it started, I began giving myself to him alone—and found my own satisfaction in it.

"It's strange. Girls who work in places like this usually end up with ruined, sloppy pussies. But yours? How is it still so tight and clean?"

"Hah! Sir, I hate when you say things like that."

"Heh heh. Exactly what I mean."

"Let's start with the steaming, Sir."

First, I poured mentholated oil generously over his back, massaging it in thoroughly. By then, his hand had slipped under my now-pantyless skirt, fingers curled like claws, busily stroking my hips and the mound of my pussy.

"You've got a brand-new pussy, that's for sure."

Now, his perverted nature began to show more clearly. I subtly went along with it, pressing along his spine, kneading his buttocks in slow circles, occasionally brushing my fingers against his fist-sized balls—each touch making him draw his thighs together, his vulgar words growing bolder.

"So you get off on being flipped open and treated like a dog's cunt? That's why you're so eager?"

"Hah! S-such talk...?"

"What? Am I wrong? You're already dripping wet."

"Ugh! Please, Sir, don't say such things."

"Tch. Today, I'll turn your pussy into nothing but a rag by next year."

He whispered as he shoved a finger deep into my pussy, probing the inner walls. I shuddered, and a surge of arousal gushed out. Then, without warning, he went from one finger to three, thrusting roughly, twisting and grinding inside me.

"Hah! Ahhh~"

Worried about the other guests and girls nearby, I bit my lip, swallowing my moans. I lifted my hips higher, then slipped both hands into his groin, gripping his balls, rubbing the bumpy shaft of his cock, massaging the thick, rigid length with care. He groaned in disgust.

"Damn it! Hah! Fucking bitch! Keep that up and I'll blow before I even get to pound that slutty pussy of yours."

The cruder and more degrading his words became, the more my pussy burned with excitement—apparently, I was twisted enough to find pleasure in humiliation.

Forcing back my moans, I began layering hot towels over his back, one by one.

Once I'd steamed him from head to toe and he was drenched in sweat, I headed to the shower for a quick, refreshing rinse—washing my pussy thoroughly, redressing—returning in less than ten minutes.