Nao Jinguji Nipple Obsession.
He watched her across the conference room table. Nao Jinguji. Her lips were curved in a slight smile, but her eyes held that familiar edge, the one that promised both fierce devotion and a potent, dangerous instability when she didn’t get her way. Their affair had started innocently enough, a simple escape from the dull routine of his marriage. But Nao didn’t do simple. She burrowed deep, claiming territory he hadn’t even realized was available.
Lately, it was all about his nipples. She had this uncanny knack, a surgeon’s precision combined with a lover’s hunger. It started discreetly, a brush of her hand disguised as leaning in, her fingers finding their target through his dress shirt. Then, behind locked office doors, the game escalated.
He remembered the first time she really went for it. Pinning him back against the wall, her eyes burning with something akin to jealous fire. “Your wife doesn’t touch you like this, does she?” she’d whispered, her voice laced with a possessiveness that both thrilled and terrified him. Before he could answer, her mouth was on him, hot and wet through the thin fabric. She didn’t just suckle; she worked them. Tongue flicking, teeth nipping gently, then a deeper pull, a rhythmic tugging that sent a shockwave straight to his groin. He’d clenched his jaw, a silent groan trapped in his throat as his body responded against his will.
Nao was a master manipulator of pleasure, a witch conjuring sensations he’d never known existed. Her techniques were relentless, inventive. She’d pinch and twist until the nerve endings screamed, then soothe them with a lingering, wet slide of her tongue before starting the assault again. She’d suck one taut peak deep into her mouth, then use her nails to lightly scratch circles around the other, driving him mad with conflicting urges. It was torture, exquisite torture, and he found himself craving it.
The monotony of home life seemed a million miles away when Nao was focused on him. He became her willing subject, a slave to the intense, pinpointed pleasure centered entirely on his chest. Her breath on his skin, the low hum she’d make in her throat as she tormented him, it was a total sensory immersion. He couldn’t think of anything else. His shirt would be damp where her mouth had been, his nipples aching, throbbing, impossibly sensitive. It was this particular fixation, this relentless, delightful torment that he found himself thinking of late at night, lying next to his sleeping wife. He’d even started internally labeling this potent, dangerous phase of their affair. It was, in his mind, the essence of their reckless, burning secret: Nao Jinguji Nipple Obsession.
And now, looking at her across the table, he felt that familiar tightness in his chest, a different kind of ache. He knew what awaited him later, what she had planned. The thought of her skilled mouth, her knowing fingers, the complete and utter surrender his body would experience, sent a jolt of anticipation through him. He shifted in his seat, subtly, trying to hide the physical reaction already stirring below the belt. She caught his eye, and that slow, predatory smile spread across her face. She knew exactly what she did to him. She knew his weakness, and she exploited it with a passion that was both terrifying and incredibly, unbelievably arousing. And he, the sensible, predictable man he thought he was, was utterly, hopelessly addicted.
