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She truly loved her life as a high-end escort.

The excitation of toying with the elite, the omnipresent luxury, the palpable power oozing of her clients: this was beyond anything little Nastya could have ever dreamed of in her frozen Siberia.

Sometimes, she would find it hard to believe that she was still in her early twenties and could literally enjoy everything the world had to offer.

She was both grateful and proud of where she had brought herself.

And it was not just her being pretty or a good fuck.

Of course she was stunningly beautiful and took the greatest care of her perfect body. But most importantly she was smart, funny, well-educated, and genuinely loved making her clients the happiest men in the world. That was what was making her so successful among the most demanding customers on the planet.

She was great at her job. Brilliant even. Maybe the very best.

True, she could take the easy way and marry some rich guy.

But then what?

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She switches on the lights and he closes the door behind her. She cannot stop thinking about that wonderful gala event. The electricity in the air, the whirlpool of colours, the sparkles. Wow. They had already been to many impressive charity galas, but this one at the Met was quite something.

Such contrast with the quietness of their flat. With the stillness of the Manhattan skyline in the night.

She could never grow tired of the serenity of this view. She simply loved it. Her husband had dimmed the lights down so she could better enjoy the scenery from inside. No reflection on the window wall.

*“Honey, are you coming?”*

He wraps his arms around her from behind. A bit of warmth and privacy after the excitation of the public evening.

He is holding her tight. Really tight. She can feel his breath in her hair.

He lowers his right hand between her legs, and grabs her there.

Her heart skips a beat.

His hand is firm. She can feel each of his fingers even through the fabric of her evening dress.

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She switches on the lights and he closes the door behind her. She cannot stop thinking about that wonderful gala event. The electricity in the air, the whirlpool of colours, the sparkles. Wow. They had already been to many impressive charity galas, but this one at the Met was quite something.

Such contrast with the quietness of their flat. With the stillness of the Manhattan skyline in the night.

She could never grow tired of the serenity of this view. She simply loved it. Her husband had dimmed the lights down so she could better enjoy the scenery from inside. No reflection on the window wall.

*“Honey, are you coming?”*

He wraps his arms around her from behind. A bit of warmth and privacy after the excitation of the public evening.

He is holding her tight. Really tight. She can feel his breath in her hair.

He lowers his right hand between her legs, and grabs her there.

Her heart skips a beat.

His hand is firm. She can feel each of his fingers even through the fabric of her evening dress.