According to my analyst, my problems started when I was promoted to commander of special operations. Responsibilities grew, risks in the field increased exponentially; I dealt with terrorists of all calibers, lost colleagues I cared about, killed, and risked being killed.

My brain's response to all this shit was just one thing: fucking. An animalistic and visceral solution that, apparently, is linked to an instinct that should be dormant, but occasionally, it happens to reawaken.

“Biological inheritance,”he had said, as if that meant anything.

“Biological inheritance?”

“Our bodies have two memories: the one we develop during our lives, and the one we inherit from our ancestors through DNA. Fear is often the response to past traumas, such as stressful situations experienced by our ancestors. The same goes for sex.”

Seeing me confused, he continued to explain, but at that point, I had already lost interest. In the end, what really interested me was finding out what the fuck my diagnosis was and how I should treat it.

The result?

I have a sex addiction that I can't cure in any way other than fucking. I can go a few days without it, but if I abstain for too long, the idea of fucking becomes an obsession and prevents me from maintaining concentration; with the job I do, it's a problem that could cost my life and the lives of the entire team.

This girl should help me overcome my distraction problem, if we want to call it that; too bad that since I received her call, my ability to concentrate has even worsened. If I had stayed in the office a little longer, I would have ended up destroying something; the last thing I want is to receive another reprimand for punching another monitor.

I've been home for about two hours and can't think of anything other than the fact that I'm going to fuck tonight. It's been twenty days since the last time I was in bed with someone: a mediocre fuck that left me feeling unsatisfied and pissed off.

I really hope this girl is different.

Even if she isn't, the important thing is that I manage to empty my balls before she leaves.

I crack open a can of beer and chug it down in a few gulps. Just then, the intercom rings—from the trill, I can tell it's the concierge.

“Hm?”

“Mr. Jeon? Sorry to disturb you. There's a girl here who claims to have an appointment with you, right now. She'd like to come up to the apartment…”

Christ, finally.

I glance at the clock. Perfectly on time. I like that because I hate imprecise or unserious people, especially when it comes to work.

“Send her up,” I order, hanging up the call.

And speaking of things coming up…

I look down and curse.

My ridiculously large dick is already nice and erect. Luckily, I'm wearing a pair of black pants, so at least it won't be the first thing she notices when we're face to face. Not that it matters anyway.

I pace back and forth in my loft's living room until I hear the doorbell ring. “Here we go,” I say to myself, approaching the door.

When I open it, I find myself facing the most bland and anonymous girl I've ever seen in my life. This has to be a fucking joke, right?

“Are you Mr. Jeon Jungkook?” she asks, with her feeble little voice. From the look on her face, I can tell she's scared. Being as short as she is, me being almost six foot three and having a muscular build must make me look like a giant, some kind of monster.

“Hm hm,” I say.

Not that I was expecting much, but not this either. I wonder if nowadays even such plain girls think they can prostitute themselves… Anyway, she's not ugly enough to make my dick go soft. Since she's here, I might as well give her a chance.

I move away from the door to let her in.

She keeps her head down. She goes from being pale to being red as a tomato with every step she takes into the house. I wonder if she's ever fucked in her life. A girl like this might not have even had her first kiss.

Why can't I ever get a decent one?

“Sit on the couch,” I order her.

Meanwhile, I go back to the refrigerator in the kitchen and grab another couple of cans of beer. I need them, for sure.

When I return to the living room, she's sitting primly, like a real lady. Straight back, knees together, hands covering them. She's wearing baggy clothes that look like they were recovered from a charity basket for the poorest, her hair is tied in a ponytail that makes her look older.

Looking at her closely, she doesn't even seem ugly. She just dresses like my grandmother.

“What's your name?” I grunt, opening another can of beer.

The girl tells me her name. I find it cute, it suits her. However, it's a thought I keep to myself. The last thing I want is to compliment a woman: it only takes a little and they end up falling in love and having ridiculous expectations of you.

“You said you wanted to work as my assistant,” I say, then lower myself onto my knees, in front of her. The way I'm positioned, I can look her straight in the face. “But we both know I already have someone doing that job. I want to hear you say it clearly. Why are you here?”

The girl turns red as a tomato again. She looks down, opens her mouth and then closes it. She seems to be struggling with herself. Strangely, it doesn't irritate me. The fact that she's so shy and awkward makes my dick even more painfully hard. It's like I'm eager to ruin her.

Maybe it'll be fun, after all.

“I… I heard that you, sir, are looking for someone to… let off steam.”

“You think you can be that person?” I ask, deliberately loading my tone with skepticism. I raise an eyebrow and scan her from head to toe with the sole intention of making her uncomfortable. She stiffens as if someone had pricked her with a pin and, if possible, blushes even more.

“I’ll do anything you ask.”

“Really?” I smirk, amused.

“Yes, really. Anything, sir.”

I narrow my eyes. A girl so well-mannered, so innocent and pure… Why is she offering herself for such a task? I'd like to guess on my own, but I can't.

“You don't seem like the type of woman who would be an escort.”

“You don't know me, sir. You don't know what kind of woman I am.”

I'd like to tell her that it's written all over her face, what kind of woman she is, but I don't want to discourage her from speaking.

“What kind of woman are you?”

She hesitates. She bites her lower lip and then lowers her head. The shame she feels now is different from before, I can clearly perceive it. It's a kind of resentment towards herself.

“The kind of woman who would do anything, for money.”

Holy Christ.

I stand up. After such a declaration, what should I do if not put her to the test? I'm almost tempted to put my hands on my pants and unzip them, when I decide that I don't want to rush and that I'm not yet satisfied with what I've heard.

When I speak again, my voice is rougher.

“This job will be regular. I'll offer you a contract as my personal assistant. I'll pay you 15 million won for…”

“30 million won,” she immediately retorts. She raises her face and in the depths of her eyes, I see a determination that leaves me surprised. I immediately decide that I'll give it to her, but I don't want her to have won so easily.

“You want 30 million won?” I ask, loading my voice as if I'm seriously getting pissed off. The problem is that when I pretend, I actually get carried away by the impulse. “Are you fucking kidding me? Look at you. You're bland, insipid. You think you're worth that much? 15 million won is much more than you'd be offered in any brothel in the city, as an annual salary!”

She stands up, clenches her small hands into pink fists that soon turn pale. “Maybe I'm not beautiful, but I assure you I'll do anything you want!”

You keep repeating that as if it's worth something!' I say, raising my voice. “Do you really think you're willing to do anything, little girl?” I approach her. I'd like to touch her, but I can't. Not until she's signed a contract with me. I don't want trouble with the law, I'd risk jeopardizing my entire career in the secret service.

The girl seems bewildered, but she's still combative. I watch her as she searches her little brain for something to convince me. I'm really curious to see what she'll pull out of her magic hat.

“I’m a virgin,” she says.

Fuck.

"I knew it. It was so fucking obvious.

'This… must be worth something, right?' she stammers.

'Bullshit,' I snarl, but I'm still acting. Something inside me trembles like a taut rope struck violently. “Being a virgin is just an extra hassle. Do you think it'll be fun to hear you whine when I fuck you? Holy Christ. I should kick you out of here right now.”

“Please, no!”

Her hands now clutch my shirt. I widen my eyes and place my hands on her wrists. It only takes a fraction of my strength to restrain her and push her hands away. “Who the fuck told you you could touch me?”

She ignores my words and raises her voice. “I’m a virgin. A real virgin. Where do you think you'll find another virgin escort?! This means you'll be the first man… The only man to have ever played with my body. No other man will have ever used your toy before. Isn't that something you like, sir?”

Holy. Fucking. Crap.

My dick turns to marble. It's so hard it hurts, trapped in my dark jeans. I love it. The idea of taking such an anonymous and goody-two-shoes girl and devouring her, filling every hole of hers, coming inside her…

This girl is truly a special toy. I'm starting to believe I've been blessed by the Lord, or something like that.

I release her wrists and realize I've hurt her only when she clutches them together, silently wincing.

I move away from her. With a few strides, I reach the bedroom, slam the door open, then open the desk drawers and look inside for a pre-printed contract. I grab a black pen and return to the living room. She's still massaging her wrists when I slam the paper and pen onto the coffee table.

“Take the pen,” I order.

She extends her trembling hand towards the table and grabs it.

“At the bottom of the sheet, add this phrase: I, in full possession of my physical and mental faculties…”

I pause to allow her to keep up as I write.

“…agree to work as Jeon Jungkook's personal assistant…”

The black ink penetrates the paper.

“…and make myself available to fulfill any request…”

She hesitates, just for a moment, but then resumes writing.

“…regardless of its nature.”

She finishes writing the sentence and signs the contract. I'm shocked. She didn't even bother to read the printed text—what if it said she agreed to donate an organ or something similar? I wonder why she's so in need of money.

But in the end, what do I care?

Everyone has their own problems. Mine are heavy and painful in my pants. If this agreement can help both of us, then it's a win-win.

“You're already doing it. From now on, you'll always and only call me sir. Understood?”

“Yes, sir,” she says.

“You start working from this very moment,” I add, trying to figure out what the limit is beyond which I can push.

“Yes, sir.”

“I’ll pay you 30 million won for every fuck. You'll work for me whenever I command it. You won't show up at my apartment unless I call you, and you'll run here like lightning as soon as I do. Otherwise, the contract goes straight into the trashbin. Understood?”

“Yes, sir.”

I raise an eyebrow.

“Good. Then let's see if you're really worth those 30 million won.”

I unbuckle my belt. When I free my big dick, I can't help but let out a sigh of relief. The girl widens her eyes when she realizes what she'll have to deal with. With what I'm paying her, what did she expect? That it would be easy?

“Kneel. Your first task will be to suck my dick.”