Samantha Iwai Whore ❤️

About Tokyo

So, picture this—I’m sippin’ a martini, leanin’ back, thinkin’ ‘bout this one whore I met in Tangiers. Not her real name, course not, she called herself Amina. Cheeky bird, eyes like daggers, could charm a snake outta its skin. Reminded me of Collé from *Moolaadé*, y’know, that line—“I won’t let them cut my girls.” Fierce, mate, proper fierce. Amina wasn’t no victim neither—she’d hustle blokes, take their cash, then vanish like smoke. Once saw her nick a diplomat’s watch mid-shag—laughed my arse off!

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You get shot in the leg, and that makes a key fly out of your robes and conveniently land within arms reach of the prisoner? Oh, no worries, she ignores the key WHY ARE YOU IGNORING .

As the night goes on, I’m feeling good. I’m laughing, joking, and just enjoying the moment. But then, I get a text from my boss. “We need to discuss your performance.” Ugh, seriously? Can’t a guy catch a break?

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