NANAMI KENTO WOULD LEAVE HIS WIFE FOR YOU. a truth that crystallized with an intoxicating certainty after a week of nights spent watching your set at the gentleman’s club.
always front and center, whiskey in hand, suit undone, he lounged with his arms draped over the plush velvet red sofa he paid a hefty sum for each night—just to throw you quadruple that on to the stage. if it weren’t for his old lady at home, he would empty his wallet at your feet without a second thought.
after late nights at the office on a business trip miles from home, he could never forget how he had stumbled across club and caught a glimpse of the flashing marquee: “dirty diana.” your name alone sent a thrill throughout him, pulling him in like a moth to a flame.
one glimpse turned into a nightly ritual, each visit an escape from the job slowly eating him alive and failing marriage quickly driving him to insanity. each moment with you a tantalizing promise he couldn't resist. each gaze shared, full of lust and curiosity— intensified his temptation of infidelity.
he could do nothing as he was sucked deeper into a world where all he could think about was you.
you moved under the dim LED lights with a sultry confidence that captivated him completely, each sway of your body around the steel iron pole a siren’s call that lured him further away from his faithfulness. as you danced, every movement seemed to whisper promises he longed to fulfill. a sea of men came to watch your performance every night, but your gaze only found him.
and with that— he knew nothing about you, only that he needed you.
he needed you so badly that the moment you approached him after your fifth set of the week to thank him for his generosity and support, all of his morals shattered in an instant.
he needed you so badly that it took every ounce of restraint not to cum in his pants the moment he heard you speak for the first time—your voice a sultry melody that wrapped around him like a warm embrace. he needed you so badly that within an hour of meeting and sharing a few drinks with you, he was driving you back with him to the penthouse suite of his hotel down the road. he needed you so badly, that he didn't dare feel an ounce of shame when binding your hands together above your head with the tie that his wife gifted him last christmas.
he needed you so badly, that he didn't even have the decency to remove the silver wedding band on his left index finger as he palmed your beautiful tits in between his fingers or as you sucked your own juices clean from his digits.
how could he feel like a horrible person for cheating when your pussy felt as if it were made for him? when your sighs were delicate and pretty, and the way you looked at him beneath your lashes made him forget every worry and trouble he’d ever faced.
with his dick buried deep inside of you, he was lost in a world where guilt didn’t exist.
his wife never fucked him like this. her arch wasn’t as deep as yours… she never drained his cock dry, nor has she ever deep throated his length with such soft and pretty lips. hell she wasn’t even as beautiful as you.
overall, she just wasn’t you.
as you clenched tightly around his dick, your cunt slick with a mix of your climaxes, nanami decided that if he were to die in this very moment, he would die the happiest man on earth.
you knew he was married. you had seen the ring. the way he discarded his phone without a care in the world every time her name flashed across his screen. but you didn’t care. you had never done this before and you should have felt shitty but with every thrust into you, his chants of leaving his wife for you had your orgasm soon crashing over you. voices filling the room, a symphony of praises for each other. he whispers sweet promises of giving you the world.
you’d never have to dance again. at that revelation, you put your all in to satisfying him and he could not get enough of you.
nanami wanted to fuck you for the rest of his life. he wanted to gaze in to those beautiful eyes for all of eternity. dawn broke over the penthouse after countless rounds, and whilst bending you over against the kitchen island and pounding into your sore pussy relentlessly; it was you he let you break the news his wife. in response to her ten missed calls and 17 unanswered messages— under his instruction, you texted her four simple words.
"I want a divorce."
for hours following, he continued to have his way with you, his only regard for you as the new mrs.kento.
