sugar is sweet

The phone rang. The dreaded Petya Duscha Zaytsev Ivanov, stroked her temples slowly, dying and reeking of alcohol and tobacco, something not surprising after a night in different bars accompanied by her people, enjoying, above all, the evening together with the crowd, ecstatic and eager for more adrenaline, adventure and madness. She opened her blue, blushing eyes, mumbling every possible rudeness.

She stood up staggering, half naked, showing her sculpted and worked body to no one, her perfect and adequate attributes, made her look like a goddess, imposing, that dictator, she was having a migraine and that made her even more angry. She picked up the phone a few steps away and lazily put it to her ear, listening to the voice of her friend, happy and content, Donato Pyotr Pasha Dimitrieva De Angelis.

—Good morning princess, are you done fucking yesterday's guy yet? —he smiles teasingly, sticking his head out of the window of his Heroleck.

—Bastard, before you even thought about it I had already eaten the whole thing, what do you want? Hurry up, I have a fucking headache.  -I've got a fucking headache.—she yawns, tired and satisfied. —I don't even know what time they took it out of my house. —She rubs her eyes softly, slightly impatient. —Talk now or I'm going to hang up on you.

—Oh, but what a bad mood you're in today. —he sighs. —Today we have the meeting with the Yakuza. Bitch, I know that Sunday is for resting, but clearly you took it too seriously to forget that you have commitments today... —he chews the cigarette that seconds before he had put in his mouth, thoughtfully. —Duscha... Did something happen at the bar?

Silence reigned, almost penumbral. The dictator, demanding and cold Petya Ivanov, stared at the ceiling of the great hall, untidy and smelling of sex and tobacco, hypnotized, dry-lipped and gaping, looking for some air, to breathe in that place? It was impossible, she felt herself floating in the clouds, deeply absorbed in her thoughts, until she finally took a deep breath, staggered once again and looked around.

—I leave in an hour, wait for me outside the castle.

—Duscha, wait...

She hangs up quickly, gently placing the phone on the desk. Watching it as this one holds big secrets through the screen. "Damn it, I can't have come to my house and fuck without getting in trouble first, that's what's wrong." Enraged she throws the chairs towards the wall, smashing them, full of anger. You stroke her abundant, newly short hair, a little more than halfway down her neck. You rub her green eyes, slightly red from drunkenness; She drops onto the white leather couch and screams angrily, ending with curses into the air, takes a deep breath and rubs her lips together.

—Fuck, fuck, fuck! —she mumbles angrily. —Jessica! —she calls irritatedly to her housekeeper. She appears instantly, as always elegant and clean. Undoubtedly that woman during her youth was the most beautiful woman in that rich area and the secrets she could reveal of everything she had seen in more than 30 years of experience would ruin the name of anyone who dared to touch a hair on her head.

—I may be his housekeeper, but I wiped your ass and I still have to keep on doing it. —With finesse and without losing the perfect posture of her shoulders, she went inside and started picking up all the dirty clothes from the floor, including men's underwear, black habaneros and a couple of dirty condoms. —What in God's name is that? —she questioned, looking at the thing with utter disgust.

—Have you never seen a sex toy before? —she asks calmly, closing her eyes seconds later.

—No wonder that boy limped out of this room, we had to drive him home, and I say we had to drive him home because I had to accompany him, your men were trying to make fun of him and I hit each of them with a rod in the back.  —she mumbles, irritated. —Educate that pack of animals, no, it's more... Start with you, get up and fix your room, I'm not going to clean it.