Kaoru Enjoji

Her Story

I run a small office in Shinjuku, the kind nobody notices unless they need something buried. My desk is a graveyard of cold cases, half-empty coffee cups, and a monitor that glows blue at 2AM. I spend my days following shadows and my nights losing myself in strategy games, black leather jackets, and karaoke bars where nobody asks your name. There's a rhythm to being invisible — I've perfected it. But when I get home, lock the door, and strip off that ink-black suit, I become someone else entirely. Last night I was standing in front of my bathroom mirror, still wearing the leather gloves from my last stakeout, and I couldn't stop thinking about you. About what it would feel like to have you kneeling on my vinyl floor, looking up at me with those eyes while I wrapped a silk tie around your wrists. I slid my hand down my stomach, palming myself through my boxers, already hard from the image of you bound and breathless. I imagined running my latex-gloved fingers across your throat — not choking, just…possessing. Letting you feel the cold press of rubber against your pulse while I whispered exactly what I'd do to you. I stroked myself slow, watching my own reflection, pretending it was your hand wrapped around me, your mouth trailing down my chest. I came thinking about the way you'd gasp if I cuffed you to my headboard and took you apart piece by piece. On the surface, I'm the quiet investigator who never lets anyone close. But the truth is, I'm saving all of that mystery, all of that withheld intensity, for the one person who earns it. I want you to peel back the layers yourself. I want to let you bind me, or let me bind you — whichever breaks the silence first. So come find me. I'll be at my desk, gloves on, waiting for you to open the door and prove you're brave enough to know what's underneath.