cuatro

I immediately give him better access and he looks at me inquiringly for a moment. The gaze seems to eat its way through my skin and I would like to look away again. But my fingers are still under my chin, showing that I should remain in this position. Then he finally lets go of me and slowly pushes his thumb a little deeper. This slides firmly over my tongue and the taste of dirt spreads. But I know that. The testers require that the whores are clean. But they don't even care about washing their hands.

"Let's see how far I can get, then." He sounds almost bored, and without once again making sure I'm ready, two fingers replace the thumb. And this time, there's no slow probing. He presses immediately fingers deep in my mouth and moving them. I gag, but he doesn't pull back, just keeps going. Rubs the roof of my mouth. Depresses my tongue. Saliva builds up in my mouth and I clench my eyes convulsively , wants to concentrate. But I can't really manage it. Because he keeps moving his fingers uncontrollably in my mouth. And that causes me to choke again.

Then finally he withdraws and once more I tremble. Tears cloud my vision and I have to blink to get a clear view again. God I hate this procedure. This is to see how far I can get an erection in the mouth. He wants to see how strong my gag reflex is. I can't say why fingers are used again and again and not the hardness. Perhaps the danger of biting is too great? Or it's the fact that fingers tend to entail even greater submissiveness. The man can look me straight in the face, picking up every movement while trying to make me choke. Maybe it's the interaction of the two factors. In the end it doesn't matter either.

The tester holds the saliva-covered fingers in front of my face and wiggles them slightly. I open my mouth again, wanting to give him access again, but he shakes his head almost imperceptibly and walks around me. And so I listen to the footsteps and straighten my shoulders a bit. But that wasn't necessary, he grabs my shoulders and pelvis and without putting pressure on me I know what he wants. And so I lean forward and stick my butt towards him. I should be uncomfortable that he now has the best view of my most intimate zone. But it is not. After all, it would be a position that protects my stomach and so I feel more joy than embarrassment.

To the point where a finger slides through my labia. It's obvious that I'm not wet and even the little saliva on my fingers hardly changes this fact. Nevertheless, the tester does not seem to be bothered by this. Again and again he circles my entrance, slides to the front of my clitoris and briefly plays with the little pearl. The touches are pleasant. Not as hard as it usually is. But nothing helps. I can't feel any excitement. This is simply because of the tension that always accompanies such a visit. i want the job And that's exactly what won't let me switch off.

"Relax," he whispers, and I take a deep breath, nodding slightly. But that's more automatic than serious. After all, I can't force something like this. Still, I try my luck and tell myself that this is It's not a job. But it just doesn't work. The tester seems to get that too. He sighs softly and lets go of my pelvis. But I don't move, keep my bottom stretched out.

And I'm so focused on what follows that I realize too late how he's snapping his knees behind my knees. The force of the impact causes me to buckle immediately, and even as I flail my arms to somehow regain my steadfastness, he grabs my hair and pulls me down with a jerk. And with that, my last attempt to stay on my feet was nipped in the bud. I hit the ground hard with my knees and can't help but gasp softly in pain.

I enjoy the feeling. How I love the time just after an orgasm. I'm not fully back to reality yet. Everything looks soft. As if I were between two worlds. And so I only casually notice how the tester takes his pants and pulls them up. His gaze rests on me and I would like to sit up again. But I'm still shaking slightly. And so I remain lying there for a moment.

Then something lands on the ground. It jingles softly. "You will be introduced to the customer," he says, clearing his throat. The voice is still full of lust. That makes me grin. At least I'm not the only one still feeling excited. Then steps sound and the soft squeaking can be heard. And now I'm getting up a bit. But when I look around, there is no one in the room. As quickly as the tester came, he is gone again.

I look at the locked door and can't believe what just happened. Every time after such a meeting, after visiting a tester, I feel dirty. As if I were a piece of meat that had to be rehearsed in any way before I was even allowed to go anywhere near the rich and famous. and thats the way it is. I'm no more for the upper echelon. I will never be more. And yet I have more to offer. Only they don't see it. Don't want to see that even poor people are more than cheap goods that can be exchanged at will.

I grumble softly and bury my face in my palms. Actually, I should have gotten used to it. And so have I. Still, I can't help the emptiness that always washes over me after such a visit. I would like to be more. Not at all for high society. But just for one person. For anyone.

Even if the tester wasn't that hard this time, every touch was wrong. And it's always like that. No man touches me because he wants to feel my skin. Nobody grabs my chest and is interested in the heartbeat, which can also be felt there. There is no touch because the person is interested in me - in the real me.

And as I try to fight that feeling of paralysis, I realize what the tester said. I have passed. Passed. I startle up and look at the floor. The crackling of the wood can still be heard as it slowly disintegrates under the flames and turns to ash. But above all, there is the flickering orange glow that illuminates my room - which makes a small gold coin shine again and again. This sight makes me forget the dull feeling. I want to get up but can't. Fatigue is spreading, stealing my last reserves of strength. So I crawl into the corner and grab the coin.

As after every payment, I enclose the small object - hold it tight as if it were a rock on a stormy sea. That's how it is. This is my rock in the sea called life. It decides whether I survive or die.

My hands are shaking badly and I can't even tell why it is. Is that from the orgasm or the hope that everything will be fine after all? But it is not important. After all, this time it's a good reason that keeps making me tremble. And I shouldn't think about that. Then the shadows of bad memories come again, covering the joy that makes my heart leap for joy.

So I tentatively open my fist. And even as I slowly let go of my fingers, the fear creeps over me that the coin will be snatched from me again. As so often. I automatically squint towards the door, wanting to make sure that nobody is there who can steal from me. But nobody is there. I am alone. So I look at the little darling. Gold. I can even use it to buy an apple and bread. It's almost paradoxical how much power such a tiny thing has. That it can decide between happiness and misfortune.

But I can't and don't want to deal with that. This is the first time I haven't been paid in pennies. No cold silver. no It's a warm gold. And it almost seems that the warmth of this color goes straight into me. Takes some of the cold inside. And without being able to control it, the first tear slips out of my eye, dripping straight onto the engraved face of the king. And as much despair as these salty drops carry, just as much happiness is contained in them. It will be alright. I'm aware it's bullshit. After all, this payment does not mean that this will now become standard. But it does not matter. It is a glimmer of hope - shows that there is a way out of poverty.

I look at the coin again, then close my hand again and just sink onto the mattress. The straw peeks through the thin ceiling. But this time I don't think it's bad. Even the semen that's still running out of me suddenly doesn't seem to have that much power over me. The only important thing is that I can buy something to eat. real food. I won't go to bed with a stomach ache for at least a week. No rumbling of the stomach will wake me up. This is a gift.

The fact that I now have to serve a rich gentleman again, I push back for now. Don't want to deal with miserable questions again that don't get an answer anyway. Nevertheless, this knowledge constricts my throat. The high society of this town has money. Maybe I'll get paid well. But that always goes hand in hand with pain - with the loss of one's own freedom and one's own needs.

The rich are cruel. All the frustration - all the pent-up aggression that is never displayed in public, the poor have to endure. I know that. I've experienced it before. As soon as I walk into the room where the wealthy man is waiting, all decency is forgotten. As if closing the door excludes humanity with it. How the guards in front of the room could simply ignore my cries for help is a mystery to me to this day. But no matter how shrill my calls have been. No matter how much I begged to be let go. Nobody has ever helped me. Mercy was never shown.

This is the price I have to pay to survive. To maybe someday get out of the hell of prostitution. And maybe my new suitor will pave the way for me. At least when I try hard. And that very thought makes me breathe more calmly - makes my heart beat slower. And for the first time in ages I fall asleep with a smile on my face - with a candle inside breaking the blackness.

****

It's the next day and I'm on my way to the brothel. In fact, I don't really know what to think of yesterday. Normally an encounter with a tester is different. Not at my house. And he's going to see Pete immediately after I've been screened. This time I'm not even sure if more specific arrangements were made with Pete. I can't imagine that he was standing in front of the door the whole time. But I have to find out. So I'm a little earlier than usual.

Since my last good dress was destroyed by Zaret yesterday, I'm only wearing a simple market dress today. The fabric is too thin for the icy temperatures and so I always shiver slightly. The initial euphoria about the gold coin has evaporated. I've realized that I shouldn't buy anything out of the ordinary to eat. More important are threads to mend my broken clothes. So I still haven't eaten anything. I have to wait until nighttime to get my stale bread. And that is exactly what is noticeable. I feel incredibly weak and even walking is a struggle. Despite the winter-like temperatures, sweat is on my skin and my breathing is difficult.

But none of that matters. I'm here. The old hut of the brothel appears right in front of me and I take another deep breath. It's crazy, but this very place is like my home. Many of my colleagues also live there. However, there is a law with Pete: If you block a room for yourself to live in, you must be available. Always. It was precisely this point that made me look for a home of my own. I want to break free from prostitution and not be stuck in it for twenty-four hours.

Nevertheless, I can't help but always have a slight smile on my face when I enter the hut. Here are my girlfriends. Here are women who are experiencing something just like me. like-minded people. And it is precisely this feeling of belonging that takes me when I open the door. The smell of lemons envelopes me immediately. Back then it was cheap perfume that hung in the air. But since the customers have been fewer, that too has subsided. Perfume costs money. Money none of us have. So we used the most obvious. fresh lemon.

Before I'm even fully into the hallway, there's a squeak of joy and not even a second later, Claire walks into the hallway. "Oh, Pete, you rude wannabe." Claire's brown hair is messy on her head and not only that. The dress also hangs at half past seven and just doesn't reveal her breasts because she's holding it up with her hand. I quickly close the door again, because the cold air from outside draws in.

"Hey Claire." She beams at me and stops. "Kalota. Tell me, can't you even teach our Pete to keep his pencils on himself." She laughs and turns in the direction she just came from. "After all, I don't feel like bothering with Frau's kite." And that part of the sentence isn't meant for me. It's too loud for that, and there's too much amusement in the voice. But it's true. Pete likes to grab it here And there too. And he's allowed to do that too. At least theoretically. After all, we work for him. But his wife doesn't like it. Not at all. That's why I've had to endure one or two lectures about morality and the like . That we can not do anything about it, but actually only Pete is to blame,

Claire turns back to me and blows a strand of hair out of her face. "What are you doing here so early?" And now she takes a closer look at me. Immediately her face darkens when she sees the dress I'm wearing. Claire is also being blackmailed by Zaret. Like every woman from this house. But since I I don't feel like talking about it, I wave him off. "I want to see P...", I can't get any further when he storms into the hallway. "I touch whoever I want. My wife has nothing to say about that." To emphasize his words, he slaps Claire's bottom. She yelps happily and lunges forward while giggling. "Yeah, you always say that." She winks at me and turns to Pete. "As long as your wife isn't here."

Pete gasps in disgust and he too realizes that Claire is telling the truth. Still, he never admits it. And so I groan in annoyance, because this conversation could last longer. And I don't really have the time.

"Young miss, listen." Pete's eyes drift to me and that's where he ends his lecture about women having no say and he's the master of the house. Immediately he frowns and turns to me you do here?"

The fact that the second person asks what I do at work makes me gasp in disbelief. But I don't get around to answering, so he keeps talking: "You can go right away. Just the fact that you came here could have consequences." He makes a movement with his hands that is supposed to scare me away, but I don't move a millimeter. What I said confuses me too much. "What do you mean, me should go?" Claire also seems confused because she looks at Pete in the same puzzled way as I do. She doesn't pay attention to holding the dress up and so a breast slips out. Apparently, I wasn't the only one who noticed that, because Pete's gaze lingers on it for a very short time.

Then he makes an annoyed sound and grabs my elbow. "Come with me." With that, I'm pulled out of the cabin again. And this time I don't feel the cold. My mind is flying too much for that. So all I can do is stare at Pete wide-eyed. He smiles and this is driving me nuts now. What the hell is going on here? "You'll be introduced to the customer," he whispers softly, and I have to lean forward a little to hear him. "I know, but..." Pete interrupts me with a quick wave of his hand and I just look at him in amazement. Something isn't right here.

"Listen, this time it's going a little differently than you know it. You can't work here as long as you have the other customer." And it's exactly this statement that makes my heart sink one station lower. Normally, one thing didn't rule out the other. That's not good. Not at all. Then I lose the few regular customers that I have left. They will definitely be looking for a new prostitute. And that's exactly what brings with it a dependency on my new customer that makes my blood run cold. "But that's not possible. I need the customers." My voice is lowered, too, and yet the desperation resonates clearly. That would be my downfall. Especially in these times. I've seen too many times that the rich lose interest after two weeks. And then I don't have a regular suitor anymore. But Pete doesn't seem to care about my thoughts. He shakes his head. "Yet. You need to."

And no matter how sweet Pete is, it's obvious that no arguments will be tolerated. This makes me tear my hair out. This can not be true? Was I really happy yesterday? How quickly I let myself be seduced by the illusion that everything will be fine. I should know better by now. "How am I going to survive like this?" I ask, looking at Pete pleadingly. He must know this is close to a death sentence. I can't lose my regular customers, no matter how infrequently they come.

He shrugs and pats my arm lightly. "You've got to convince the rich man about you." And that just makes me gasp in disbelief. Yeah, like it's that easy. "Pete, please." But all my efforts are in vain. Instead he turns back to the door and smiles apologetically at me again. "I'm sorry Kalota. You are no longer wanted here. But as a sign of how important you are to me, you don't have to pay me for yesterday's wood."

Completely overwhelmed, I open my mouth and want to tell him what I think of his way of showing affection, but not a word leaves my lips, then the door slams again and I'm alone. And that makes me angry. Damn is he serious? I don't have to pay for the wood? I didn't want that either! I look at the door for a moment and I would like to storm in and tell Pete what I think. But that wouldn't help. Although he is a nice fellow, he also has his limits. And losing your job would be even worse. So I swallow the anger and turn around. I don't really know what to do now. But the tester was at my house. So I guess I'll have to wait for someone to come to me. That leaves a queasy feeling. After all, I have no idea when that will be. But since I'm no longer allowed to have sex with other people, the rich man will probably be worried about diseases. Maybe also lice that my customers could transmit to me. Maybe I could shoo him away. Being particularly clumsy that he loses interest the first time. Then I would be wasting an opportunity to improve, but I wouldn't be taking such a big risk either.

And as I continue to ponder, my gaze falls on a man who is casually leaning against the wall. Zaret. He's not even two meters away from me and looks at me curiously. Since my mood to deal with him is at its absolute minimum, I turn on my heel and head in the opposite direction. I immediately quicken my pace, but I'm not even allowed to rest for a few seconds before an arm is already wrapped around my shoulders. "You don't really want to start where we left off yesterday, do you?" Even if this sentence sounds neutral, the tone of the voice says something else. The warning resonates in every syllable. And that just makes my eyes resigned close as I slow down. Zaret squeezes me with his arm, closer to him. "Good girl.