A regular customer I've always noticed. A man in his mid-40s, gentlemanly with a refined air, yet surprisingly fond of sweets—always ordering the cake set. I'd grown fond of how he'd generously serve extra whipped cream as a garnish. That day, it was raining, and droplets glistened beautifully on his expensive-looking coat. With few other customers around, I fetched my towel from the locker and offered it to him. As he was leaving, he handed me a note with his LINE ID. I was surprised an older guy used LINE, but I contacted him right away. He must have sensed how I'd been eyeing him lustfully, because after a light dinner, we naturally headed to a hotel. Whether he was married or what he did for work—I honestly didn't care. The moment we entered the room, he tied my hands with the belt of his bathrobe. Though I'd never done anything like this before, I discovered I had a masochistic side, and it turned out we were a perfect match—his dominant personality sending shivers through me. During penetration, he choked me by the neck. At first, I was confused, but gradually my head went blank, and coming became so addictive I couldn't get enough. Our affair continued for a while, but recently he stopped contacting me. For such a deeply masochistic man, to just abandon me like this is cruel. Lately, my libido has only grown stronger, and masturbation alone no longer satisfies me—so I ended up auditioning for an AV.