Your customer arrives

The man arrives and lets himself in with the keycard, looking much more ragged than you expected. He isn't wearing a suit like his boss, but rather sweatpants and a T-shirt.

What is his job, anyway?

It doesn't matter, you realize. It doesn't matter what you think his job is, or whether you think he's dressed appropriately. All that matters is that you've been paid to have nasty, dirty sex with him. Or at least, you have to convince him that you are.

In a manner that seems consistent with the behavior of most of the men you've met so far in this universe, the man doesn't bother with introductions, but just walks up to you and grabs your arms, holding them behind your back with a strong grip.

So that's how this is going to go, is it.

"Nice outfit, whore." He says in an unnecessarily aggressive tone.