Thomas Carlson’s Encounter

Thomas Carlson was your typical shy virgin. He lacked confidence, had little interaction with girls, and carried a growing sense of frustration. At twenty-two years old, his parents often pushed him to get some kind of social life by doing odd jobs for the neighbors. He eventually agreed—and he didn’t regret it. The extra money wasn’t much, but he enjoyed the little income it provided.

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The New Neighbors

One Monday afternoon, while standing at his front door, Thomas noticed a large truck pulling into the neighborhood. Behind the wheel was a muscular man, but what caught Thomas’s attention was the passenger beside him.

She was the kind of woman you’d call a MILF—though not the typical type. She was effortlessly hot. To a shy young man like Thomas, she looked wild: both arms covered in tattoos, a piercing in her nose, long black hair falling over her shoulders.

The truck stopped in front of the house a few meters away from Thomas. That house had been empty for months, since the previous couple moved out five months earlier.

The man got out first, then opened the door for the woman—though not in the most gentlemanly way. Now fully visible, she wore a tight brown latex top struggling to contain her breasts and black latex pants hugging her figure. Thomas felt his body respond immediately, his imagination already running wild. He thought of the pool behind that house—the only one in the neighborhood—and imagined himself working there one day under the summer sun.

His mother suddenly called him inside, and Thomas reluctantly stepped away, missing the rest of the moving scene.

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The First Meeting

The next day, while others enjoyed their holiday, Thomas prepared to work for an old couple two streets away who wanted their lawn mowed. His small reputation was spreading. He left home with his tools, when suddenly—

“Hi, honey! I heard you’re the handyman I need!” a sweet female voice called from behind.

Thomas turned and froze. It was her—the new neighbor. She was smiling directly at him.

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Tenko Simpson

“My name is Tenko Simpson,” she said playfully. “And no, I’m obviously not Japanese. You can thank my parents—big manga and anime fans—for this name. Maybe it means something like the rolling kid or whatever.”

Thomas was too intimidated by her beauty to think about her odd name or her bold parents.

“So?” she asked, tilting her head. “Are you going to tell me how much you charge for services, or are you just going to stand there with your mouth wide open, trying to catch flies?”

Thomas snapped out of his daze, realizing his jaw was literally hanging. Worse, his eyes had been darting between her face and her chest. He stammered an apology and told her his usual price.

“Are you available right now?”

“Y-yes,” Thomas answered, desperately trying to look anywhere but at her cleavage.

“Good. I’ll be waiting for you.”

Thomas ran home for more tools and hurried to her house. The gates were open. He started with the backyard pool, then moved to the front lawn. Only afterward did he realize he had completely ghosted the elderly couple he was supposed to help first. That wasn’t like him, but he told himself he’d use the excuse of being “sick” if needed.

When he finished, he rang the front bell. Her voice called from the backyard instead. He walked around, slowing as he approached her.

There she was—changing out of her workout outfit.

“I like to jump in the pool right after my jogging,” she explained casually.

Thomas had assumed she’d been inside the whole time. Instead, she now stood before him in a skimpy thong and bra, her body glistening with sweat.

“Would you do me a favor, sweetie?” she asked with a mischievous smile. “Before I jump in the pool… can you give me a massage? I mean, only if you’re not in a hurry.”

Thomas froze.

“Don’t worry, just the feet,” she teased. “I don’t want to kill you with too much work.”

His heart pounded. Disappointed it wasn’t a full-body massage, but relieved he at least had permission to touch her, Thomas nodded. She lay on a pool chair, her curvy body stretched out under the sun.

“I hope they’re not too smelly for you, sweetie,” she said, wiggling her toes.

“I’ll survive, ma’am,” Thomas tried to joke. She smiled and opened a magazine.

Thomas got down on one knee and began to massage her soles. After a while, he started pulling gently on her feet. Every so often, he stole glances between her legs. Twenty minutes later, she thanked him warmly:

“Thank you! That was good.”

Thomas slowly set her feet down, reluctant to stop. That’s when panic struck him—he had an erection. And now he had to stand up. He tried to turn away quickly, inventing an excuse to leave and calm down.

But her voice stopped him.

“Wait. You need to get paid, right? That’s rude—face me when I’m talking to you.”

Thomas turned, praying she wouldn’t notice. But her eyes went straight to his crotch.

“Interesting,” she laughed.

“I-I’m so sorry,” Thomas muttered, his face blazing red.

“It’s okay,” she said smoothly, standing up. “You couldn’t help yourself. Let me guess—you’re a virgin, right? I’m probably the most beautiful woman you’ve ever been this close to. And my pheromones… well, they’re irresistible. Especially to a virgin boy.”

Her words sent chills down his spine. He remembered reading that pheromones were natural triggers for attraction, carried in sweat, body odor… even in places he never dared to imagine. Now, with her scent still heavy in the air, everything made sense.

“Do you know what I do for a living, boy?” she asked calmly. “I share my smell—and I get paid. Not just money. Whatever I want.”

Thomas blinked. A prostitute?

“No, not a prostitute,” she corrected as if reading his mind. “I don’t consider myself one, at least. Prostitutes please men in bed, under the man’s control. I please men in ways they’re not supposed to like. Disgusting ways. Fetish ways. And they pay. I don’t feel degraded—I feel powerful. Some would call me a prostitute. I call myself smart.”

Thomas was stunned. Her unapologetic tone terrified and fascinated him at the same time.

“I’m sorry… Like I said before,” he stammered. “Can I just get paid now, and I’ll leave you alone?”

“Oh, you’ll get paid,” she smiled darkly. “But not with money.”

“E-excuse me?” Thomas whispered.

“Get on your knees, Thomas. I’ll show you.”

He resisted at first, but when she placed her hands on his shoulders, he felt his knees buckle. He collapsed in front of her, his erection throbbing painfully. She laughed.

“Now, look at my body. Breathe me in. This is taboo, Thomas. Almost no one admits to it. But it’s real. Would you really feel angry if I said I won’t pay you with money?”

“I… I work for money…” he tried, though his voice was weak and uncertain.

“You’ll accept something else, I’m sure,” she whispered, lifting his chin. “I’ll let you lick me.”

Without warning, she pressed his face between her breasts. Thomas moaned, his tongue darting out instinctively. He licked her salty skin, sucked at her nipples, while she guided his head.

“I’m too good for you,” she laughed.

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The Fetish

Fifteen minutes later, she raised her arms, revealing her sweaty armpits.

Thomas moaned, drooling half from exhaustion, half from lust.

“What are you waiting for?” she teased. “Or do you still want money instead?”

Dizzy with desire, Thomas buried his face into her underarm. The musky scent overwhelmed him. It should have disgusted him. Instead, he felt like he could climax just from inhaling.

And then—her thigh pressed against his erection. His body betrayed him, climax surging out of his control. She pulled away just before it could finish.

“No… please…” Thomas screamed in his head.

“I think it’s time for you to leave,” she said with a sly grin. “Give me your number. I’ll call when I need you again. But I doubt you’ll ever ask for regular payment methods.”

Thomas, humiliated by the wet stain spreading across his shorts, gave her his number and bolted home, praying no one saw him.

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Prologue

Later that evening, curiosity gnawed at him. He walked past Mrs. Simpson’s house, peeking through the wooden gate. What he saw made his heart skip a beat.

The same muscular man from the truck was on his knees before her. She stood in revealing pink pajamas, holding a pair of socks over his face.

Thomas’s erection returned instantly. But an old woman passing by caught him staring and gave him a disapproving look. Embarrassed, he quickly walked away—his mind racing.

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This was Thomas’s first encounter with Tenko Simpson. But it would not be the last.