Parting Shot

Janet leans back on the worn couch, sipping cheap wine with Phil, her old buddy from way back. Laughter fades as he drops the bomb—he knows about her side gig, turning tricks to pay the bills. No judgment from him, he says, eyes steady. She exhales, tension easing for a split second. Then he leans in, voice low: maybe he should book her sometime. She chuckles, assuming it's a twisted joke. But his face stays dead serious, hunger flickering in those eyes. Disgust coils in her gut like a snake. This prick, her friend? She stares him down, words sharp: fine, one taste of the goods, but it costs nothing—except us. Their friendship, poof. He nods, eager, already half-hard. She leads him to the bedroom, flips the switch to pro mode. Straddles him hard, grinding down with fierce rhythm, her moans fake as hell—high-pitched, over-the-top, the same act she's peddled to strangers. He thrusts up, grunting like an animal, hands gripping her hips too tight. She rides him relentlessly, bodies slamming together in a frenzy of sweat and lies, building to that explosive peak. He comes with a shudder, spent. She rolls off, friendship shattered in the afterglow, door slamming shut behind whatever they had.