"Who do you want me to be?"

Athena is only able to milk her injury so far. For the rest of the night, Stella and I take most of the men, but if the two of us are busy and the phone rings, Athena is still made to work. Viktor is not a man who shows sympathy in his brightest of moods, and he would never turn down money.

I try not to count. I keep my legs spread and my head turned to the side.

Most of the time things just proceed on their own. A man comes in, he wants to look at me, touch me and sometimes he wants me to touch him or put my mouth on his cock. But mostly, the sight and knowledge of a woman who is theirs to take is enough stimulation to get their pricks hard.

Viktor makes them pay more for sex without a condom, but sometimes I can still get them to wear one by pretending or suggesting that I have a disease. I don’t know if I do at this point. Judging by the number of men who continue to fuck me without a condom, despite this information, is enough of an answer.

The best ones are the ones who are too scared to do anything, or who just want to talk, although most of them still want to fuck afterwards anyway. I don’t tell them anything about myself, I don’t put on a character like Stella does, I just keep my legs spread and my head turned to the side.

There are two main times that the phone rings – the afternoon when the men at work take a lunch break, and then after midnight, when the pubs and bars are closed and the drunks don’t want to go home. We work until the phone stops ringing.

Viktor doesn’t leave. He has no home, he does not take holidays, he does not meet friends or have any life other than this. Other than working our bodies until we are exhausted. I have no idea how much money he makes from us, but I do know he paid £75,000 to bring Stella here. And in one month, she has apparently paid off that ‘debt.’

That’s the other trick we are meant to believe.

I don’t think Stella does believe it, not really, she seems to understand when Athena and I tell her to shut up about it. Viktor and Cyrus like to tell us we are actually earning money. That one day, when we have earned enough, they will let us leave this apartment and give us our ‘share’ of thousands and thousands. There are nights when I almost catch myself believing it is possible.

Another one climbs off from on top of me. Young guy, maybe early twenties, possibly the same age as me. He is fit and full of energy despite being clearly drunk. I suspect he is using cocaine. I climb off the bed and go to reach for the wipes.

“What are you doing.” His hand grabs mine, instead of getting dressed, he was just jumping up to punch the air. His cock still stands hard as he watches me with wild eyes.

“You think I’m going don’t you?” he teases with his tongue in between his teeth. He grabs me firmly, and I am easily moved, light as a feather as he shoves my body off the bed, down to my knees and trapped between his legs. He holds my hands up and shakes me around, making my tits jiggle for his amusement. Even at my best, I would be no match for his strength. Tired, hungry and exhausted? I have nothing to fight with.

“Nah, you don’t get off that easy, bitch. I paid for the whole hour.”

Thirty minutes, one hour, longer? It doesn’t usually matter. Viktor books us several times every hour, he knows some men don’t show up, he knows most run away when they cum, he knows they will wait a few more minutes if they have to. Sometimes we are made to satisfy so many men in a row that our legs go numb. When there are gaps, we quickly wash ourselves in the shower, using strong disinfectant that Viktor buys, or we just wipe ourselves off and wait on the sofa until another man is ready.

But this one isn’t running away. He is the other kind of man who visits a brothel.

He makes me suck on his cock, hard at first, but limping as he recovers from his orgasm, his mess still inside of me, now leaking down my pale thighs. He is here for the full experience, and isn’t going to let me short change him.

“You sluts love to make us cum quick, huh?” he grunts, using his hands to guide my head up and down. It doesn’t matter that he isn’t hard any more, he still expects me to do all the moves as if he were.

“Thought you could get away with it, huh, that it? Not me, sweetheart. I don’t know what kind of idiots you mess around with but I don’t let fucking whores play tricks on me!”

His rhythm builds up, resentment curdling to anger in his voice. His fingers cup the underside of his balls, he pushes me up and tries to feed everything inside my mouth. I try to suck on his entire cock and sack, my tongue stretched out underneath, dripping with saliva.

“There you go. There you fucking go!” more shakes on my head, he wants to make me gag on him, my face now crushed into his pelvis. Eventually he has dolled out enough humiliation to get himself hard again. I keep sucking, expecting him to want to finish in my mouth this time, but again his hands come down to lift me up. He throws me around like a rag doll at first, side to side, standing up, pushing me down, and finally hurling my body back to the bed.

On my front this time, my hips lifted up so I am on all fours. He lines his cock up to my entrance. There is nothing soft or delicate about the way he wants to fuck. With one agonising thrust he drives into me fully. I fall off my elbows and my face is pushed down into the pillow. I’m so sore already, I can’t endure this kind of sex now.

His two hands spread my cheeks and he looks down to watch how deeply he is fucking me. Not one thrust is held back, he doesn’t care that I am sobbing into the pillows, he is more aroused and proud of his own performance. Pulling out as far as he can and shoving himself back in to make our hips clap.

“Yes! Yes! This is how you like it, yes, I know! I fucking know!”

We stay like that, and he does it again and again. Wanting to see how much he can hurt me.

At last a hard knock rattles the door. I feel like I am being stabbed from the inside. He tries to argue with Cyrus, shouting and reasoning that because he is so close to cumming he should be allowed a few more minutes. But a combination of Cyrus’ threats and his own phone blaring with an alarm prompts a furious exit from my broken pussy.

“Fuck off! Alright! Alright! Jesus back the fuck off I’m going alright?!” he squares up to Cyrus who has now stormed into the bedroom, all while putting his own clothes on, having to bend his hard cock up flat against his body to zip his bottoms, clearly unbothered having his dick out while arguing with another man.

Cyrus handles him, making sure he wanders the right way down the corridor and holding his collar as he shoves him out into the street. He continues to whistle and shout obscenity as he wanders away. When Cyrus returns, I have just managed to get my underwear back on. I wince as I take a step toward the hallway, my hand coming up to my stomach to steady myself against more pain.

Cyrus’ face is emotionless as I slowly walk up to him. I rub my eyes with the back of my hand.

“Are you okay?”

I lean back from the question, my face curled up in disgust at whatever manipulative attempt is happening.

“Not a sad old man like you’re used to.” Cyrus gets closer, his hand coming to my stomach and threatening to go lower, fingertips pushing at the seam of my lingerie. I stay still as a statue, trying not to give him any satisfaction as my red eyes shine with water.

“I don’t just stand out here you know. I know the men who are coming, if they are new or not. What they tend to be like. I knew that guy for instance. Usually, I’d give him to Baby...”

I turn to look in his eyes, immediately regretting the movement by the smugness in his expression, his perfectly pruned goatee pointing like an arrow towards his mouth. His hand leaves my stomach, and from his pocket he pulls out the folded collar he had given to Stella hours earlier, before Viktor made him remove it.

He lifts it to my face, tapping the leather against the tip of my nose.

“But Baby was a good girl tonight, so…” he shrugs innocently, letting his suggestion sit obviously in the air “… what about you, Big Mouth? Do you want to try it on?”

My jaw clenches and I ball my hands into tight fists. There is only one correct answer, and what difference will it make anyway? If I say yes and try on his stupid collar, he will just take it off as he knows not to cross Viktor a second time. Plus, it might be enough of a gesture for him to make good on this promise, even if it saves me from one violent encounter, it is still worth it.

All I can remember is what my grandmother used to say to me. Laughing as she washed the dirt out of my dresses, rubbing cream into my scuffed knees and elbows after another playground scrap, or standing up to a bully twice my age. The problem isn’t that you’re too clever, it’s that you’re too stubborn to ever let yourself be clever!

“Viktor said no collars remember.” I keep my voice low.

“I know, I know.” he holds his hands up guiltily “… but just right now, get a feel for it, and then we’ll take it right off again. All I want to see is that you’re a good girl too who will wear it for me when I ask. Viktor won’t be around forever, he’s going to Europe soon, and then I’ll be in charge, understand?”

My eyes widen at that. It might seem like a simple thing, but it’s more information than I have received in weeks. Neither Viktor nor Cyrus ever speaks to us about their plans, movements or want us to know any more than we have to.

My first instinct is that it’s a lie. I can’t understand Viktor’s calls in Russian but Stella can, she told us she heard him once, asking whoever he was talking to if he could come back home. It was a bad phone call, and I remember Viktor was furious when he came back.

I don’t have nearly enough time to process all of this now. I know I can’t trust Viktor or Cyrus, but it’s hard to believe anything reliable coming from Stella either. All I know about Viktor is that he is never a man to leave money on the table. If he is going somewhere, then it might be difficult to transport us, but it won’t be impossible. He won’t want to leave three girls who make him money.

From what little I can tell from my rock bottom position in the criminal underworld, it seems race matters a lot to these people. Viktor is obviously connected to Russia, that’s where the money goes. If he can’t go home there will be a reason for it, and if he can, then he will want to take his assets with him. Cyrus is Arab or Muslim or whatever matters to gangs like these. Others like him own the flat, the chicken shop below it, and Cyrus works for Viktor and takes a cut of the money, but there is no kinship or blood to bind them any more deeply than that.

The smart move is to keep them both close. One way or another, these men are going to determine what happens to me, and there is no downside to making Cyrus think I want to be with him. I should just let him put his collar on me and be done with it.

So why can’t I? I am already a slave, why does it matter?

“You can shove your collar up your ass.”

I round Cyrus’ back and pace to the living room, fighting every painful stab to my insides as my feet hit the carpet.

My head is a thick mist of red. I am already his slave, that is the difference. If Viktor wanted me collared like a dog then I would already be that way. Cyrus is just getting off on how far he can twist our heads, like he is doing with Stella, he wants to do the same to me, he wants me to put it on for him.

He wants me to choose the collar. Well, fuck him. I will never choose this.

The rest of the night is slow, so I reason it must be Monday or Tuesday. The three of us sit on the couch in silence. Athena is allowed to refill her towel with more ice, which she shares with me, putting it between my thighs after seeing the way I walk.

As the phones die off, Cyrus goes downstairs to get us food. There is already light coming through the window by the time we eat. Stella has been given too many glasses of vodka and is just giggling to herself as she shovels fried chicken into her small belly, Athena is careful to only eat on one side of her mouth. I open my styrofoam box to reveal an empty burger bun, a couple ketchup packets squirted on the side. I avoid looking at Cyrus. Stella notices my food and for a second I think she is going to be stupid enough to comment on it, but thankfully she turns away and picks up another piece of chicken.

With the phones finally quiet, Viktor shuts down his empire for the day.

Cyrus goes down to lock up the front door. He returns with his hand stretched out to Stella, she smiles as she takes it, turning back to blow us a kiss goodnight, stumbling on drunken feet as she goes off to entertain her ‘lover’. Viktor takes the two of us to use the bathroom, and Athena is locked inside one of the bedrooms, leaving me to stay with him. It’s a simple choice I guess, Athena was punched in the mouth tonight after all.

Viktor watches as I strip the bed and lay new sheets down. We don’t talk as he takes off his clothes, letting his heavy gold watch slam on the side table. When he is naked and spread on the bed, I squat down like a frog between his thick tree-trunk thighs. It takes a few minutes of me rubbing him into my mouth before he is hard, and his cock struggles to stay that way given the amount of whiskey in his system.

It’s a mechanical process, he folds his arms behind his head, closing his eyes and letting me be no more than a relaxing ritual to end his stressful day. He barely makes a noise when finally he reaches climax. I hold still, waiting and letting him empty himself into my mouth. Sometimes Viktor will hand me a tissue or wipe for me to spit it out, but tonight I just swallow it.

I get ready to stand up and leave, but Viktor pulls his arm down from behind his head and guides me to be next to him.

“Lay here for a moment, then I take you out.”

Viktor’s spread body takes up all of the space in the middle of the bed, my slight body hugs into his side, I move my hand to stroke the hairs on his chest, feeling his heavy breathing go in and out. I wait cautiously, but when it doesn’t feel like he is wanting to fall asleep, I decide to take advantage of this rare moment of intimacy between us.

“How did you meet Cyrus?”

My question surprises Viktor, he blinks and frowns, turning to the side to look down at me.

“Why do you want to know that?”

“I don’t understand how you would know each other. You’re Russian and he is an Arab.”

He grunts, saying some kind of pejorative in Russian.

“I work with many people, sometimes that means working with them too.

I pause, deliberately stroking my fingers more in his chest hair.

“Are you training him? You know, to do what you do?”

Viktor doesn’t answer the question, I lift my head up to his. He is watching me, thinking something and I don’t know what. I consider stopping now, but I know my mind won’t rest unless I have some kind of answer. Acting hostile towards Cyrus was its own mistake, but for now I just need to know how big of a mistake.

“Will I always be with you, or will you give me to Cyrus someday?”

Viktor looks as if he knew that was the question I was going to ask. His hand comes to my upper arm, squeezing me and then moving me away. We get up and he leads me out into the corridor, unlocking the bedroom door so I can go in to be with Athena.

Down the hall, noises from the other room make my shoulders hunch. Stella and Cyrus are still awake, and by the sounds of it, they will be for some time. Viktor notices my reaction and his face sours.

“Don’t worry, I’m sure you can sleep with your boyfriend tomorrow night.”

A heavy hand shoves me into the room faster than I can blink. Viktor locks the door.

I bury my face in my hands. As if this situation can’t get any more fucked, I realise that in trying to fish for answers, I have inadvertently made my own damned pimp jealous of my other pimp. If I was not so drained I might even find the absurdity of my position funny, but I can’t feel anything other than sinking dread in my starved stomach.

Through the dark I climb my way to the bed next to Athena. She pulls the thin cover over us, and I apologise for waking her, inviting her to try to get back to sleep. We all need as much rest as we can get.

“Do you need space or comfort?” she whispers to me, a habitual question we often ask each other.

Living like this, there are nights where what we need most is space. Space for just this small amount of time where someone is not touching our skin, grabbing us, and using our bodies.

Then there are other nights. Nights where we need to be held because it is the only thing that will stop us falling into pieces.

“Cyrus told me that Viktor will leave soon, and when he does, Cyrus will take over.”

I feel Athena’s body tense up next to me.

“He’s lying. Viktor can’t leave. You heard what Stella said when she caught him on the phone.”

“What if that’s changed? What if Viktor has sent enough money home to be allowed back? What if selling us to Cyrus is how he gets enough money? Hell, what if Stella is full of shit, or she misheard him?”

I can’t get my panicked thoughts out fast enough, this is the only time we will have to speak, and even though my eyes are straining and my body aches to sleep, I have no choice but to try and work it all out now. At the very least, perhaps Athena has been spoken to in the same way by either Viktor or Cyrus and we can piece together the information we need to survive whatever happens.

Athena is silent as I finish my long list of equally dark hypotheticals, and I realise I have put too much out there, immediately regretting my outburst.

“It doesn’t matter. None of it fucking matters.”

Athena turns away from me, her voice breaking down in tears.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, don’t worry about it. Perhaps we can get more out of Stella tomorrow. It will be okay. It will all be okay.”

I wrap my arms around her, holding her tightly into my chest, trying to help her settle.

“… do you need comfort or space?"