A Promotion for Her Husband 03

The shot of neat vodka, filled right to the brim, went down like an old friend. In one gulp. Despite his shaking hands, Anton knocked it back in a single nervous jerk. A hot wave of relaxation rolled through his body from head to toe. He sighed blissfully, eyes closing, and bit into a nice, greasy cutlet... Paradoxically enough, his mind cleared.

For now, the situation was under control. Relatively speaking. At least Masha was in plain sight. There had been no chance of sitting beside her--the seats were packed. Besides, Boss had reserved the prime spot next to himself for his favorite. Still, there was no reason to worry. Sanyok was gallantly attending to his wife, putting tasty morsels on her plate and remembering to top up her cognac.

But there wasn't so much as a hint of anything indecent--Boss didn't tolerate that at the table. Whether it was another prohibition inherited from the old criminal code of conduct, or simply some personal quirk of a man who had come of age in the nineties, Anton didn't know. What mattered was that his beloved was safe and within sight.

A festive mood hung in the air. Cheerful hubbub, half-drunk confessions, the guffaws of his coworkers. It had been a genuinely difficult year. They had come close to bankruptcy. Many had quit... But they'd made it through. And not without Anton's efforts, either--he'd managed to land the key contract. Business had picked up. They'd even raised the salaries. And how many of the people sitting around that table had been one step away from being fired, hanging on to their jobs tooth and nail...

"Let them enjoy themselves. They've earned it," the boss thought, sweeping the table with a slightly bleary gaze.

Boss was spinning yet another yarn from the old days--the crowd had relaxed and was pleased to see the working year come to an end. And then there was vacation... And the ribs were absolutely divine. Anton even knocked back another shot of fiery vodka to go with them.

"Some sucker starts yelling, 'Don't touch my wife, I'll pay everything back.' Yeah, right. As if they gave him the money so he'd be able to pay it back." Boss was in full flow. "We had a whole damn assembly line for manufacturing whores. You give some married idiot a loan at interest under the terms of the 'you'll never pay this shit back' special, and then his wife settles the debt. The first time is always the sweetest: she squirms, fights, tries to get away. Then you do it again a week later, only now she's getting paid. Third time, she takes her own panties off, and afterward she stands there playing 'innocent,' batting her eyes and waiting for her money. And once she gets used to it, gets accustomed to the cash--off to the highway or the hotels she goes. Married women make the best whores: skilled, clean, and you'd never guess by looking at them. And their husbands will cover for them if anything happens--who's going to admit his wife moonlights as a prostitute? Most of them stayed in the business even after the debt was paid off. And at first, they're all so damn proper, with a dick already buried in their pussy while they keep a poker face, like, 'Oh, I don't like this.' Yeah, right. Rivers running out of their cunts. All women like cheating. That's why I never got married. Better to fuck other men's wives. Ah, those were the days... Well, there isn't much of a gap between the first and the eighth... pour away."

Anton was almost spellbound. It sounded like something out of a fairy tale. Of course, the Boss was a bloody bastard--and such a fucking humanitarian, but even so, it was strange hearing something like that from such a respectable man, tossed out so casually--breaking the law and all. But when Anton glanced around, it became clear that only the inner circle was nearby. Coincidence, or caution?

The story was morally ambiguous, too. Anton didn't exactly sympathize with the debtors--who had forced them to borrow money from gangsters? But the moment he imagined himself in their place... A chill ran down his spine. He straightened abruptly and shuddered.

After drinking to yet another "cheers," trying to drive away the horrible images, the man cast a final, checking glance toward his wife and choked. Neither his wife nor her "admirer" was at the table.

He looked under the table. Why the hell would they be there? The vodka had clearly done something to his logic. Panicking, Anton tried to get up, but his boss's heavy paw pressed him back into his seat.

"Antoshka, I'm counting on you. You have no idea how much money is at stake. Don't let me down, okay?"

"Of course, Ruslan Olegovich." The man answered quickly, futilely trying to get to his feet.

"I don't doubt you. And if anything goes wrong--your wife will settle the debt." The boss smirked.

Anton went pale. The story he'd just heard immediately came back to him--what if it had been meant specifically for him?

"Just kidding, just kidding. Why are you so tense? Those aren't the times anymore--legitimate business and all that. By the way, meet your future partner. Takeda. You'll be working with him."

"Ah, gonsik? You come go with us?" the Chinese man grinned. "I drive there, they saalest you!"

"Good company, but something's missing." The boss pondered. "Maybe send someone out for some weed? Has anyone seen that... fetch-and-carry... courier?"

After an endlessly long introduction and another couple of "cheers," Anton finally managed to slip away beneath the cover of yet another one of Boss's stories.

The man immediately bolted for the hated rooms. They were going to haunt his dreams.

With every step, adrenaline pumped harder through his body.

And...

A sharp breath of relief--the room was exactly as he'd left it.

One.

Two.

Clean.

The panic ebbed, only to come crashing back a moment later with twice the force: wherever they were, they were still here.

Together!

Or not together?

Oleg ran to the showers--empty.

The billiards room--nobody.

He cautiously peered into the banquet hall again, careful not to get trapped there by accident. Sveta was there, stuffing her face with fish.

Masha wasn't.

The man checked the changing room and even went outside.

Nobody.

"What the Copperfield hell..." Clouds of steam billowed from his overheated lungs. "God, it's cold. I'd give anything for a good steam right now instead of all this..." A sudden revelation struck him.

"Fuckin' Masha!"

He swore, then cut himself off.

"Goddammit. I hope I haven't jinxed it."

He nearly slipped on the turn, flew into the bathhouse, and immediately froze, at a loss.

Hide like a coward and fry his brain waiting for whatever came next?

Or charge ahead, sweeping everything and everyone out of his way?

Obviously, his guess about the steam room had been right.

But apparently, he'd guessed too late.

The "sweet" couple stood beneath buckets of cold water.

Both completely naked.

The rival had one arm firmly around his companion's waist.

Masha saw her husband approaching and recoiled from the stranger, shrinking back in fear.

But Sasha, oblivious to the catastrophe bearing down on him, pulled her close again and yanked the rope. The bucket tipped, cold water crashed over them, and the girl's shriek merged with the man's satisfied groan.

"Having fun?!" Anton growled through clenched teeth.

The man looked like a seasoned wolf about to attack: lips pressed tight, knees bent, fists clenched. The predator's eyes burned with rage as they tracked every movement of the rival who had taken his in-heat female. His posture was slightly hunched.

It was almost as if the fur on his hackles had risen.

Masha looked at her husband, went pale, and began uncertainly trying to wrench herself free from the unwanted embrace, her wet hands nervously sliding over the man's body.

"Oh, Тоhа! Yeah, I'm steaming Mashka by the thigh. Want to join us? The girl still has a couple of holes free." The guy smirked and slipped a finger between her fear-clenched cheeks, making the girl give a humiliated squeal and rise onto her toes. "Oh, that's right. You're the family man! Wife waiting at home, faithful as ever, and the kids don't look anything like the neighbors, do they?"

Anton glanced at the pool, calculating.

If he drowned this piece of shit, would the drainage pipes be able to carry him away?

Everything suggested they wouldn't.

There was simply too much of him.

"Boss was looking for you," the top manager said through his teeth.

"Why?"

"Go find out. Better yet, ask him. Maybe he's decided to entrust you with something important."

"Yeah, maybe..." The guy perked up. "Maybe I'll go to China instead of you? Huh, Toh?"

He grinned and sucked deeply--about a third of the way into the breast--the embarrassed Masha's nipple.

"Don't miss me, baby. I'll be back soon."

The predator watched his departing prey with regret.

"What a fool, huh?"

Anton said nothing.

"Forgive me, Antosh. I'm so sorry."

The man squeezed his eyes shut. His face twisted into a grimace of pain. Forcing out every word, he hissed:

"What. Happened. Between you?"

"N... nothing happened!" the girl blurted. "He tried, but then he started feeling sick--alcohol, plus the steam room, plus being turned on... and apparently some kind of pathology... you'd need an examination to know... He just saw me like that. All of me. Tosh, I lost my panties. The ones you gave me."

Her voice grew quieter and more tearful with every word.

"An iPhone. Panties. What else are you planning to lose today?"

"I'm sorry."

The girl stood hunched beneath her husband's furious gaze.

Her carefully curled locks now clung to her shoulders in wet strands. Cold water streamed down her body, leaving a trail of goosebumps in its wake. Her crossed legs tried to conceal the princess's most shameful intimate parts with her thighs. Head bowed, she hugged herself tightly by the shoulders, as though trying to collapse herself into a singularity.

"So you were steaming in here with him naked?!" her husband lashed out, the words cracking like a whip.

"No! Of course not! I was wearing a robe! I only took it off here, before the dousing. And then he came over and started hugging me... What a creep."

The man pulled a piece of blue silk from his pocket and held it out to his wife.

Her eyes widened, her lips trembled. She took the garment and turned away, hiding her eyes. After a pause, she whispered:

"Where did you find them?"

"And where did you lose them?"

Masha was about to say something, but suddenly jerked her head up, staring over her husband's shoulder.

Her eyes widened.

The girl flinched and smoothly moved closer to her protector, hiding her slender body in the shadow of his broad torso.

"Antoshka, there you are, you rascal!" boomed the approaching mountain of a man.

"Motherfucker..." the top manager whispered.

"Mm-hmm," the princess nodded.

"Only you could have thought of sending a top manager to deal with something like this!" Boss roared with laughter.

With one broad palm, he grabbed the young woman's body and crushed her against his torso, flattening her soft breasts against him.

"Never mind. It's good for him--his fangs will grow back sooner."

The girl didn't even try to pull away, surrendering to the man's strength. His hairy paw ran over her smooth back, roughly pawed at her soft buttocks...

And yet Masha didn't resist!

Anton stared in shock as the stranger's hand slid lower, between her legs. The modest little thing even moved one leg aside, giving him easier access to her intimate area.

At the touch of the sensitive spot, her pelvis jerked, and wet, slurping sounds immediately followed.

"Washed yourself? Nobody came inside your pussy just now?"

"C-clean..." the aristocrat squeaked in humiliation.

"Boss..." Her husband caught himself, realizing where this was heading, and stumbled over his words as he tried to figure out how to continue. "Ruslan Olegovich, we need to talk. In private."

"About what?" the boss asked warily.

"How about we go steam ourselves in the sauna? Man to man. No women's ears."

The alpha male gave his prey a lingering, sticky look. He hesitated, but finally let her go. He wiped his slick palm on the girl's breasts, roughly shoved her aside, and headed for the steam room door.

"Well, come on, then, if you're serious."

"Get dressed and get the hell out of here. We'll talk at home."

Anton hissed the words at his wife with absolute finality and followed Boss inside.

The moment he entered, the man stopped dead.

A crumpled bathrobe lay on the floor.

"So... nothing happened?"

Anton critically surveyed the room, but seeing nothing else, shook his head.

"I'll sort it out at home. The important thing is that it's over."

He sat down opposite his boss.

"So, what did you want to talk about, Tosh?"

"Ruslan Olegovich," the manager began, gathering his thoughts on the fly and generating an impromptu speech.

"Close the door, the heat's getting out!" Boss barked.

"Yeah, I, uh... forgot this."

Sanyok darted into the steam room like a mongoose and snatched the crumpled bathrobe from under their feet.

The boss grimaced in disgust.

Anton, on the other hand, smiled with relief.

There was one more photon of light in his soul.

"I know how things are done here... behind the scenes, so to speak," the manager began once his rival had disappeared. "I understand everything. It's business. But how should I conduct myself in the East? Things are done differently there. And our partner--what sort of way is he used to doing business? I need to know so I can make the right decisions..."

***

His relaxed body melted into the chair as though every bone had been pulled from it--the nervous tension of the past few hours was finally making itself felt. Like water dousing a fire, another shot put out the blaze of his raging emotions.

Everything was as it should have been from the very beginning: a cheerful company of drinking colleagues was carefully stepping over the boundaries of etiquette.

"Someone's going to be ashamed tomorrow," the boss said with a good-natured smile.

He had kept Boss in the sauna for about twenty minutes. He had nearly made him sick. Boss, that is! That was more than enough reason to get dressed and leave. Anton cast a melancholy glance at his phone--no way to get through.

Now he could simply relax. And admire Snow White, too--when would he ever get another chance like this? The whole yard had fantasized about her, but reality surpassed any dirty fantasy: somehow, she managed to combine purity, tenderness, and depravity.

It made you want to hug her and pet her like a kitten. But only with your eyes. After everything he'd been through, he deserved a little aesthetics.

The guy shifted his gaze to the other end of the table.

And this "Thumbelina" was still eating. With her admirers showering her with compliments, no less. Where did she even put it all in such a tiny body? Although... not quite that tiny. Normal, really. "And when did Svetka have time to dye her hair brunette?" the guy thought listlessly, adjusting his glasses. "Oh, for fuck's sake!"

It was her! She was timidly hiding her slender body behind the neighbor and wouldn't look at her husband, arguing heatedly about something.

Apparently about how hard it was for a girl to change clothes quickly when there was no one around to deliver a good solid kick under her fitness ass.

Anton actually choked, nearly coughing up his drink.

"Easy, Tosha," Boss said, as his saving hand landed between the young man's shoulder blades, knocking the last traces of nicotine from the first cigarette he'd smoked fifteen years ago out of him. "Don't choke. There aren't any cutlets like that here, of course, but their rolls aren't bad either."

"Th-thank you," the manager managed to get out without taking his eyes off his wife.

Boss returned to recounting another heroic "Iliad" from the nineties, while the man's nerves began boiling all over again. He puffed with indignation, clenching his fists. He had already started to rise, not knowing what he was going to say...

"Nice tits, huh?"

"What?!" Anton reluctantly emerged from his own personal hell.

"Masha's tits are top-notch. I've only seen tits like that in porn."

"Then go jerk off to porn, you fucking incel!"

His nerves finally gave way.

Sasha froze with his fork halfway to his mouth, his gaze glued to the pulsing vein at his colleague's temple.

The entire upper management fell silent.

A bead of sweat slowly slid down Anton's cheek and hesitantly came to rest on his beard.

The top manager inhaled deeply and slowly exhaled.

"I'm in the wrong, Sash. I admit it. I lost my temper. It's been a hell of a week... you remember."

"Yeah..." The competitor relaxed a little. "You beat me on every point. Didn't give me a chance."

"It's work. But you... you fought well. You just didn't have enough experience."

Alexander looked away, his eyes narrowed.

"But now you've got that experience, and you'll beat anyone you go up against." He tried to cheer the loser up.

But the other man only smiled sadly.

"Come on, let's have a drink, Antokha. The fight really was a good one. But you grow through competition, and competition never ends. Maybe things will still turn around with China. So let's drink to the endless struggle and the achievement of the unachievable."

"Let's drink."

They clinked glasses. Knocked them back. Anton picked up his favorite cutlet...

"How was the sauna? Brag a little." He casually asked his colleague, tensing inwardly--the truth could prove devastating. It wasn't even the fact that they'd had sex. It was that Masha had lied to him... which meant that from now on, he wouldn't be able to believe a single word she said.

Pretend--yes. Believe--no.

Sasha gave a little grunt--the question had landed perfectly under the shot--and smirked ambiguously.

"That was one hell of a sauna. You wouldn't believe what her ass feels like. And her tits! I thought they were fake, but nope! So soft, so yielding. And firm at the same time."

Anton worked his jaw nervously--an electric meat grinder had nothing on it. Hearing such an accurate tactile description of his wife's breasts from a colleague was hardly a pleasant experience.

"And the way she sucks--hell, I didn't even know that was possible! The perfect balance between a gentle tongue and a hard throat. Feels like she's trying to crawl into your cock with her tongue. Her husband must've taught her--she'd never have come up with that on her own." The guy smirked crookedly.

The man looked at his colleague incredulously. If there was one thing Masha definitely didn't like, it was blowjobs. And throat fucking. Hard. How the hell did she know how to do that?

"Not necessarily her husband," the colleague beside them snickered. "Maybe it's like that old joke:

'Darling, make me feel good with your mouth.'

'I don't know how... let's do it tomorrow.'

'The hell? Where are you gonna learn that in one day?'"

A burst of laughter went around the table.

"Wouldn't rule it out," Alexander said with a crooked smile, "but nobody taught her anal, that's for sure--seems like she was completely sealed up... used to be. And the way she was working her ass when I put it in! All women love anal. They just put on an act."

Even Anton smiled and relaxed at that.

Anal was something you couldn't even mention around Masha, not even in your head. The kid was talking bullshit.

"Absolutely! Men want one thing from women: sex. And women want everything from men... including sex."

Another round of cheerful laughter erupted around the table.

The man raised his shot glass, looked at his beloved with relief, and... the relief vanished as if blown away by the wind. Masha was gone. Again!

Anton hurriedly downed his drink and, without even eating anything, jumped up from the table.

He ran through the familiar places.

Some kind of déjà vu.

Not a soul anywhere.

Not even in the steam room.

As he approached the living room, he heard the slapping of two bodies.

Everything inside him stopped.

Only to flood him a second later with blissful relief.

Svetka was on all fours on the couch. Her breasts were pressed against the armrest as she thrust her tiny ass high into the air, where another eager fucker was pounding away at it, his powerful thrusts drawing soft, broken cries from the girl. Despite the awkward position, the shy girl tried to move with him, riding his cock in rhythm.

"Well, look at her trying so hard. I never would've thought she was that passionate in bed," the thought flashed through Anton's mind.

"Boss, I recommend her! So tight... squeezes your cock like a vise. She's definitely married?"

And indeed, her vagina even turned slightly inside out with the backward motion, despite the copious juices surrounding the action.

Snow White raised her unfocused eyes toward her friend, but he merely glanced over her and hurried off to attend to his business.

The man, slightly out of breath, ran outside. The frosty air sliced into his nostrils, freezing the hairs inside them, while everything in his groin clenched indignantly, trying to retract into his abdomen.

The only sound was the chopping of wood in the utility yard.

He looked in the car. He even peered beyond the gate, startling a passerby with his bathhouse attire.

"She couldn't have left in a bathrobe, could she? Her things are still here." Her husband puzzled over it as he trudged thoughtfully back toward the entrance.

"Mikh, spare me a cigarette."

"You don't smoke."

"It's a party. And I forgot to eat anything. At least I'll have something to chew on... smoking." He took a cautious drag and immediately broke into a coughing fit.

"Maybe you shouldn't? That stuff is disgusting. I can't quit myself."

The boss merely waved his hands, trying to get his lungs back in order.

The second drag went easier.

They stood in silence.

And then Anton suddenly remembered.

"What do you think of our girls? Already managed to steal a pair of panties?"

"What, did she complain?"

The man exhaled a thick cloud of smoke in relief and looked through it at the darkening winter sky. So nothing had happened after all. Another photon lit up in his soul.

"No. But I know you."

"Won't make her poor. I saw the budget. She'll buy herself a dozen new pairs."

***

Back at the table, Anton was no longer surprised to find his wife in her seat--he was simply too tired of being surprised by anything today. He wasn't even surprised to see her sitting meekly on the lap of one of the junior managers, making no attempt to get away, merely lowering her head guiltily when she spotted him. But the anger and irritation were still there.

"Guys, can you give the lady up? I've been wanting to have an intimate little conversation with her for a while."

"Boss, she just sat down! Have a heart!"

"Oh, come on, what's it to you? You can cuddle later!"

"Antoshka, you're a family man. A man of principles. What is this?" the Boss boomed from the other end of the table, calmly tearing apart yet another lobster. "Cheating on your wife? Small potatoes. But giving up your principles--how are we supposed to count on you then?" From his tone, it was impossible to tell whether he was joking or dead serious.

Even so, the man cast a glance at his silent wife, who was genteelly dabbing her lips with a napkin, wiping away something greasy, and reluctantly trudged back to his place. Strictly speaking, there was nothing indecent about it--except that somebody else's paws were all over his wife, roaming across her body wherever they could and wherever decent mothers would have forbidden them to go.

All he could do was clench his fists and helplessly watch a colleague try to slip his hands beneath her robe and knead her nearly size-four secondary sexual characteristics. It was hard to see clearly from there, but Anton noticed that Masha was resisting, albeit rather uncertainly, shifting on the man's lap and whispering her objections.

"Sanyok, pour me one!" Anton finally snapped, unable to bear the torture any longer.

"Sure thing." His already well-oiled rival poured the firewater into their shot glasses. "To your mighty principles, Toh, your faithful wife, and your rock-solid family."

"Absolutely." The family man ground his teeth and downed the shot.

It helped a little. After knocking back another shot alone, Anton glanced toward his wife. She had finally found a way to fend off the stranger's hands from her intimate areas: she took his wrists in her hands, spread his arms wide, and, as though dancing a slow number, moved her whole body fluidly, swaying in time with the background music... she even seemed to be humming something.

Unfortunately, her robe had fallen open all the way to her waist, barely concealing her upper body. One breast had spilled out completely, while the other peeped curiously over the edge of the robe, its nipple keeping watch on everyone around.

"Well, at least he's not pawing at her," an ironic thought slipped through his mind, "but she's dancing... with him... No, surely not at the table. The Boss would tear his balls off for that."

Besides, this end of the table was already half empty. Apparently, the Boss had dragged everyone out for a smoke. Sasha was telling some story, but the man was barely listening anymore.

Melancholically tormenting yet another cutlet with his fork and periodically glancing at his wife's dance on someone's lap, now to the beat of a more rhythm-heavy Instasamka song, he wondered what would become of his family after this corporate party...

This time he didn't lose track of Masha. He noticed in time as she left the hall, for some reason heading through the second set of doors toward the billiards room.

Anton hurried after her, but halfway there he stopped and turned back to the wife's recent admirer.

"What do you think of the girl?" Anton asked with a strained smile.

"She's all right. Curvy."

"Great tits."

"Tell me, did you get to try her?" The man held his breath.

"What are you, boss? Not at the table." The young man answered louder than necessary, staring nervously over Anton's shoulder.

"I'll give you 'not at the table'!" came the ever-present Boss's voice from behind. "I'll tear your balls off. I don't need animals hanging around me!"

Anton had heard exactly what he needed to hear and, relieved, hurried off to catch up with his wife before the Boss could hook him with some "important" conversation.

He shot through the billiards room and entered the bathing area, where there was no one left. He habitually glanced over the Russian steam room and the hammam (a Turkish bath with a great deal of humid steam), then, without stopping, headed for the lounge.

Just as he was leaving, he suddenly heard the splash of running water from the shower room, along with voices.

He lunged toward the sound, nearly slipping, and collided with Sveta as she was coming out, almost knocking her over, but caught her around the waist in time and set her back on her feet.

"Masha in there?" he asked without slowing.

"Oh, Anton, wait!" Sveta suddenly blocked his way and, faltering, continued, "Yes, Masha's in there... showering."

"From what?" His friend stared at her.

"She spilled something on herself... I think."

The man tried to go around her, but she shifted again, refusing to let him pass.

"Have you... do you despise me?"

"What?" The man stared at his friend's wife in bewilderment.

"Well... you saw me... like that... the way I..." The naked modest girl turned away, hiding a tear that had welled in her eye.

Anton sighed heavily. He checked the shower room just in case--there were no other doors.

"She's not going anywhere. The important thing is not to let anyone in there," he thought. "Then I'll scoop her up, dress her myself, and kick her straight out the gate."

"No, Snowy, I don't despise you. Surprised? Yes. Upset? Absolutely. But I'm glad I wasn't forced to make the kind of terrible decision you had to make. I just feel sorry for Oleg. He's my friend, after all."

"Will you... tell him?"

"No. I won't." Anton assured her firmly. "You're my friend too. And there's such a thing as someone else's secret. This secret is yours, and I have no right to it. In a way, I even respect you for making such a resolute decision. You know, every piece of swine deserves at least a little bacon. This evening will be over soon. Besides, it was all just a dream. And after that comes a whole life. You'll sort out your problem, have a baby, and you'll have a strong, happy family. I know you love him too."

"I do..." Sveta hesitated. "And you'll really be able to look me in the eye after this... dream?"

The intellectual was silent for a moment, remembering, then recited:

I've seen drunkards with eyes wise and clear,

And fallen women whose faces held no fear...

I've seen the strong break down and openly cry,

And the weak bear crosses, though no one knows why.

The girl smiled and continued:

Don't judge a soul for sins you can't be sure,

Don't make a promise when you mean to lie.

Don't test the trust you've already chosen to trust,

And don't give a gift while planning to take it away.

"Omar Khayyam."

"No, not really. Something modern, I think..."

They fell silent for a moment, looking at each other.

"But what if Masha had done something like that... just imagine: walking around here naked, and letting anyone who wanted her have her... Would you forgive her?"

"You can't go in there!" a manager barked at an employee trying to approach the guarded door. "Sanitation procedure. Don't bother them."

"All right..." The subordinate turned around and left.

The family man imagined it and shuddered. Something unpleasant stirred beneath his little sun.

"Masha would never do something like that!"

"You trust her enough not to check?"

"Yes!" Anton cut him off sharply and, hearing the splash from the shower room, tried to slip past his friend while she was lost in thought.

But the girl caught herself and grabbed him by the hand.

"I see. You don't despise me. You just don't like me. I'm standing here naked in front of you, and you don't even look at me. I'm not pretty, am I?"

"Svee-e-ta..." Anton dragged the name out painfully. "You're married. And my wife, whom I love, by the way, is right behind that door. And she loves me too. But you're the cutest little thing in the whole yard, Snowy. You know how many times the guys and I have wondered what was under that oversized sweater?"

"Really?" The girl flushed.

"Occupied!" the man barked at another overly clean-handed visitor.

"What do you mean?"

"Sanitation procedure. Come back later."

The man merely shrugged and moved on.

"Of course it's true. We had all kinds of theories. And you know what? Nobody guessed. There's a lot more going on here than you'd think."

The girl smiled shyly.

"What did they think?"

"You really want to know?"

"What's the harm now?" The girl shifted from foot to foot, squeezing her slender thighs together around her slightly swollen lips.

"Fair point... People came up with all sorts of things."

"Like what? I'm curious."

"Mostly your underwear: what color, what style. Whether you even wore any at all."

The girl giggled.

"You wouldn't have liked my panties--they're plain... most of the time. Maybe I should show you sometime, so you can all stop imagining things? I've been rethinking a lot tonight." The little sweetheart smiled vaguely. "But sometimes I don't wear a bra... only in winter, under a sweater. In summer I'm shy. You see how big my nipples are? Through a T-shirt, they look awful."

"Actually, it looks very sexy. That contrast... A loose tank top with nothing underneath would suit you."

"Really? Maybe I'll try it sometime." The modest girl thought for a moment, casting a mysterious glance at her old friend. "If you want, you could... well, touch them." She rolled one shoulder, offering her married breast toward someone else's husband. "I've already been touched so much today... I doubt this would count as a crime..."

Anton swallowed hard, staring at the friend's delicate cones... so forbidden... so available. His hand reached out of its own accord toward the longed-for target, moving slowly, almost disbelievingly.

Any moment now, and his youthful fantasy would come true.

His palm was a millimeter away.

Already it could feel the heat of her flushed young body.

With every trembling breath, her breasts rose and fell, their firm, protruding nipples brushing against his rough male palm again and again.

And then the shower-room door flew open.

Anton squeezed his eyes shut.

"Well, how am I supposed to prove anything to Masha now..."

But it wasn't Masha who emerged.

Masha definitely did not have a cock like that.

It was his colleague, smiling smugly about something. Another man came out behind him, wearing the same filthy expression and sporting the same half-hard appendage.

Anton tried to step inside, only to run into a third "Moydodyr." He turned questioningly toward Sveta--she knew Masha wasn't alone in there, after all--but by then she'd already slipped through the door, hurrying away with her pale buttocks bouncing.

"Why, Snowy?" the man thought bitterly, watching her go.

He stepped into the shower room hesitantly. First he heard the sound of running water, and then he saw her.

The girl stood beneath the shower facing the wall. She was completely hunched in on herself, timidly hugging her own shoulders, trembling in tiny shivers. Every so often her shoulders jerked for no apparent reason.

"Masha," he called softly.

The girl spun around in panic and tried to cover herself with her hands, as though some complete stranger had walked into the shower.

"Anton?" Her lips trembled.

"What happened here? Just tell me the truth. I'm very tired of guessing everything today."

"What happened?" Her lips trembled again. "Nothing happened, Antosh. I came in here to wash, and then they were there. I had my back to them, I tried to merge into the wall..." The girl sniffled. "I'm so cold, sweetheart. Please, hold me."

Masha pressed her wet body against the hot chest of the man she loved and, like a frightened kitten, burrowed beneath his robe, hiding from the whole world.

"Why didn't you leave?" Anton sighed, holding his wife close.

"I tried, but... they intercepted me."

They stood in silence, embracing, each lost in his own thoughts.

"And where did you disappear to?"

"When?" She raised her head and looked at her husband.

"At the table. You were sitting with the others... then you vanished. I searched every room. You were nowhere."

Masha thought for a second, then ventured shyly:

"But you didn't check the bathroom, did you?"

The man slapped a palm against his face and smiled warmly.

"Get dressed and let's go," he whispered tenderly, trying to kiss his wife on the lips, but she dodged and pressed her cheek against his familiar chest. "Don't be afraid. It's over. This time I'll see you out."

He handed his wife her robe and looked around.

"And where are your panties?"

"Oh... I don't know," Masha said, flustered.

Anton exhaled once more and sensibly decided there was no point trying to have a conversation here anyway. They simply needed to leave.

To hell with this China and its Japanese grandmother.

Masha, unusually submissive, pattered after her husband, clutching his hand in both palms like a drowning woman clinging to a lifebuoy.

But suddenly the Boss appeared around the corner.

"You're the one I've been looking for, princess. Come on. I'll introduce you to a foreigner."

The man grabbed the girl possessively by the elbow and dragged her toward the banquet hall.

"She's a princess! My princess!" Anton growled helplessly.

***

"Cheers!"

The vodka went down like mineral water--it was no longer capable of relaxing him. Anton even forgot to eat. He nervously prodded at his salad with a fork and glowered at his wife, unsuccessfully trying to catch her eye.

Masha didn't dare look at him. She was sitting half-turned on the lap of the honored foreign guest. One delicate arm was draped around the stranger's neck while his heavy hand wandered beneath her robe. Her face was unnaturally calm, almost detached. Only the little fist clenched behind Takeda's back betrayed what she was really feeling.

The top brass of the office had gathered once again around the head of the table--the best of the best. The inner circle. They chatted leisurely about this and that, exchanged jokes. Only Anton remained silent, frantically trying to think of the best way out of the situation.

Any way out at all...

"Beautiful tits. Vely big, and not sagging." Takeda pushed the robe aside and exposed one breast, giving it a light upward toss. It bounced softly and swayed. "Good surgeon. Cost much money?"

"No! They're mine. Completely natural!" Masha protested, and for a moment even forgot herself, straightening a little and proudly presenting what was hers to everyone.

"Your husband like them?" the Boss smirked, tearing apart another lobster.

"My husband adores them," the aristocrat replied coldly, lifting her pert nose. The effect was almost comical beside the foreign fingers teasing an already taut nipple.

"So you married?" the foreigner asked in surprise. "Husband know you here?"

"No, of course not. He thinks I'm working the night shift."

"In a way, he's right," one of the top managers smirked. "And what do you actually do for a living?"

"I'm a doctor. A general practitioner."

"Vrach?" The Chinese man didn't understand.

"Doctor," someone helpfully translated.

"Ah, doctor. Respected profession. Why you do this? This." The troublemaker jostled the intellectual's breast.

"What has this country come to?" someone grumbled. "Doctors save lives and moonlight as prostitutes."

"That's simply how things turned out," the girl replied vaguely, lowering her eyes.

"Turned out..." the Boss muttered. "Wanted money! You're all whores once you get a taste for money. Come on, show me your profile!"

"I don't have a profile," Masha said, flustered.

"How can that be? Then how do you get work?"

"Well..." Masha thought for a moment, gathering her thoughts. "VIP clients at the clinic. Sometimes they get bored. So... that's how it happens. Sometimes I go to their homes."

"What has medicine come to!" the Boss roared with laughter. "And what do you tell your husband?"

"It's for work. Night shifts..." Masha improvised, then caught her husband's bewildered gaze and gave the faintest shake of her head: Don't believe me. I'm lying...

But the seed of doubt had already been planted.

"Hmm. Somehow I missed that particular niche. Might have to fill the gap," the Boss mused. "Hold on, though. How did Anton find you if you don't have a profile?"

Masha thought for a moment.

"Well, he was treated by me once. I don't know how he figured it out. He came yesterday and put it very simply: there's work, it's well paid, they need attractive women. So he took me along with my nurse."

"Eh?" The Boss pointed in astonishment toward the other end of the table, where a naked Sveta was basking in male attention.

"Yes. Her too," Masha confirmed.

"Good man," the Boss said, giving Anton a thumbs-up.

"But you're taking a risk. You can't work without protection. Suppose a client refuses to pay, or hits you. Then what? Go file a complaint with the cops? Think about it, girl, before you get yourself into real trouble..."

Meanwhile, the Chinese guest had resumed his attentions, making the young woman flinch and draw a shaky breath.

"Damn, I've always wanted to get my hands on a doctor. Come on, let me have a look." Anton's neighbor said it as casually as though asking someone to pass the pepper, wiping his hands on a napkin as he rose.

The girl hesitated, glanced at her husband, then merely shrugged her narrow shoulders. The robe slipped farther, revealing her elegant figure. Masha stood and timidly leaned across the table.

Anton couldn't stop marveling at his wife's baffling submission. Cognac couldn't possibly have altered the proud aristocrat's character that much.

"Yeah, those are some nice tits. Mine are big too, but the nipples have dropped. Women bend over, husks of corn flying, and their tits smack against their bellies. These, though--they're still pointing up. Nice. Husband got lucky."

"Well, that depends on how you look at it," someone chuckled.

The faceted shot glass--apparently still made according to old Soviet standards--nearly cracked in Anton's hand.

His colleague, even his friend, the man who had helped him at the very beginning of his career, was now touching the tender body of the woman he loved. His other half.

And there wasn't even anything he could reproach the man for.

His teeth clenched in helpless outrage at the injustice of it all.

His wife continued to avoid his gaze, turning away her flushed face.

"Soft and firm at the same time--bloody marvelous. I'll come see you for an appointment sometime," the admirer declared, delivering his final compliment before dropping back into his chair. "Anton, you should try."

"I'll pass," the husband muttered.

"Yeah, he's a man of principle. Believes in the family. And yet he's got a hard-on for a prostitute." The Boss smirked, and the girl stared in surprise toward her husband's lap.

"Natural reaction. But the decision is made by the upper head, not the lower one."

"That's why we respect you, Antosh."

"Yeah. So positive, there's nowhere left to put it," the tipsy Sanyok added with a sly grin.

Masha, having done what was expected of her, was about to return to her "proper" place when she suddenly felt insistent pressure at the small of her back. She instinctively arched, nearly losing her balance, her body pitching forward as her hands barely found room among the dishes for support.

Another firm push.

She braced herself against the table, bending farther, while the hem of her robe shifted precariously out of place.

What happened next seemed to Anton to unfold in slow motion.

Takeda's hands moved lower. His wife's eyes widened.

She looked around in panic as the last scraps of dignity slipped away. Anton could see the fear in her face, the silent question in her eyes.

At the very last moment, Masha turned sharply toward him.

Their eyes met.

Her carefully plucked brows pinched together in frightened appeal.

Her wide eyes begged him either to save her...

or forgive her.

Eye to eye.

She jerked forward with the sudden movement behind her, arching her back and throwing her head up.

Anton knew that reaction.

He had seen it many times before, when she was with him.

Her strained cry cut through the room, and even the far end of the table seemed to fall silent for a heartbeat, glasses suspended in people's hands. Anton caught the warmth of her breath carrying the mingled scents of alcohol, banquet food, and something else... something he couldn't name.

The entire sequence lasted no more than ten seconds, yet inside the synchronized consciousness of two people who loved each other, an eternity passed.

Cold paralyzed his mind and ran from the top of his body to the bottom.

His trembling hand still clutched the untouched shot glass, sloshing vodka over the rim.

Another movement.

Another tearful cry aimed at her husband, their pleading eyes still locked together.

Another level of the "evil wizard's tower" crumbled into rubble.

Takeda continued with brutal confidence, pressing his thin frame against the woman's soft curves.

Movement. A cry. Her body pitched forward again. Her elbows slipped, nudging aside the salad bowls.

A shudder ran through Anton from head to toe at the sight.

Then, suddenly, jealousy gave way to something else--the sheer unreality of what he was witnessing.

He had never seen his wife like this.

The sharp hunger for vice.

The urge to see what came next.

A strange tremor rolled through his entire body, dropping from his chest to his groin.

His mind cramped with the shock of it and... his body convulsed.

Once.

Twice.

A third time.

Anton could hardly believe what he was feeling.

He had lost control of himself.

His thoughts cleared abruptly.

A wave of awareness and humiliation crashed over him. It was as though he'd just woken up.

He was horribly ashamed, but his mind was working again.

First he looked around.

No one had noticed.

He straightened his robe and swallowed the vodka in one gulp without bothering to eat anything.

"Ruslan Olegovich, is this actually normal? At the table?"

"Antoshka, today he's allowed anything. And I'll tear the head off anyone who gets in his way."

"Yes... that's not what I meant." The man faltered, inventing the rest as he went. "What if something splashes onto the table? Are we supposed to eat off it afterward?"

The Boss froze and thought for a moment.

"To hell with that! Hand me my lobsters. I'll have everything else replaced. Just to be safe..."

That was very much not the result Anton had expected when he held out the plate through his wife's muffled sobs.

"Come on, have a drink with me. To the big job--whatever it is, you'll get it done. Wife happy? She want to go to China?"

"She's absolutely dying to," the man said, glancing at Masha before downing his shot.

The vodka went down like water.

Meanwhile, his precious princess was being subjected to further humiliation right in front of him, the pace growing faster with every passing second.

Takeda held her firmly by the waist. Her body was forced lower toward the table as he continued.

Her ragged breathing and broken cries cut into Anton's ears.

Her robe hung uselessly around her waist.

There was nothing he could do.

Absolutely nothing.

Only watch.

Takeda accelerated.

Faster.

Faster.

The rhythm became mechanical.

Sharp slapping sounds carried across the hall.

His wife's cries turned into little desperate whimpers. Wet strands of hair concealed her flushed face. One breast had ended up in a bowl of Olivier salad.

Then Anton saw his wife's nerves finally give way.

She began moving blindly, knocking over dishes and dragging her hands across the table.

Her sobbing grew louder.

He watched the woman he loved twist and arch in desperate attempts to get away, but the hands holding her were stronger.

Her entire body shook with silent, convulsive sobs.

Suddenly the foreigner gave a harsh growl and pressed himself against her with renewed force.

One last movement.

A spasm.

Another.

Masha's body arched through the final convulsions, then went rigid, her mouth open in a silent cry.

Her eyes had gone unfocused, turned inward.

On the sensations overwhelming her.

On the unbearable fact of where she was, what had happened, and who was watching.

She had never known humiliation like this.

She no longer looked at her husband.

And, shamefully, he looked away.

At last the foreign guest slumped back into his chair, breathing heavily.

Masha remained standing for a while, coming back to herself.

A fine tremor passed through her body in waves.

When nothing more happened, the girl turned like a sleepwalker and walked out of the hall without looking at anyone, stepping over the robe that had fallen at her feet.

She didn't notice the mayonnaise dripping from her nipple, or what was running down between her thighs, or the sympathetic glance of one of the female employees.

There was only what she felt inside...