Business-tier Pussy

8 PM. Sasha, accompanying Mr Balens to a company dinner as his “girlfriend”.

She had done jobs like this before. You had to know smart shit. Posh accent. Research current world issues. Medicine. Art. Science. Fashion, well I know about that already. Events like this were a bloody quiz show sometimes.

Mr Balens. Tall and handsome. Grey temples. Thick mustache. Serious daddy energy. Cocky business type.

Sasha went under the name: Sofiya Hamed. A marine biologist and model. His guests were quite impressed. Wives jealous, husbands staring at her gorgeous cleavage. Business-tier pussy.

Around 10 PM Mr Balens got rather drunk. He started to argue immigration politics with a colleague. God his breath was atrocious. Sasha hoped she wouldn’t have to fuck him too. But that was part of the package too. Men…

“Sofiya, what's your alma mater?” Marta asked. She was one of the wives. They stood by the balcony entrance drinking white wine.

“I went to Maywill University…” Sasha said.

“Maywill? Oooh… I went to Harperbrooks…” She laughed.

“So we are rivals then…” Sasha smiled. Ivy League talk. A piece of cake.

Marta was a blonde Russian woman. Big tits. Big ass. Paper thin waist. Button nose. Big ice blue eyes. They talked like old friends. More in common than you think. Cut from the same cloth.

“I’m going to find my husband…” She said, “But come find me later?”

“Of course,” Sasha smiled.

Marta had dropped a card on the floor. Didn’t notice. It just slipped from her purse.

Sasha picked it up.

Perrigreen Gold. Premium Escorts.

Sasha laughed. She just had a long ass fake conversation with another escort. These business types were all the same. Spending business trips with hookers, instead of their wives and children.

Sasha left with Mr Balens around 12 AM. He sobered up a bit. Now smelling like cigars. He leaned in for the kiss. Sloppy. Sasha took it. Gross. But she stayed composed. Managed a smile.

She sucked his dick. It was small. Easy to finish. He came into the condom. Tied up. He fell asleep. Paid in advance. She went to his pantry. Tomato sauce bottles. Beer. And was that a single moldy carrot. She sighed.

Swigged the beer. Called an Uber. And was out of there.

1 AM. She texted Jackson again. Hoping he would answer.

“Hey answer me asshole…”

“Dude…”

“Hi, please answer me…”

“Asshole! Where are you…”

The texts persisted for the past year.

“I can’t believe I trusted you… I love you… You are the one person I can actually talk to. The one person who gives a fucking damn about me! But you ignore me… I know the Volkov’s are dangerous. But I miss you. And this life isn’t worth it without you… Please say something…”

He replied once.

“Sorry…”

Sorry? Fucking sorry?

And after that there was nothing. No texts. But Sasha still messaged him. Hoping he would have a change of heart. How could you abandon me?

2 AM Sasha, still wide awake. Listening to the traffic outside.