12. Caught

Yes, well, the good life has to end some time right? And it might as well have ended where it did, as I was just basically living day by day, with no real hope or idea for the future. Eventually you will run into a brick wall by selling to the wrong person, and when that happens you are basically fucked up the river with no paddle.

The police was polite and very straight forward about it all, including the cavity search. They took my pills, fingerprints, they took my fake ID card, and they took my money, all of it, even though they could not prove I actually earned it illegally, and with that they basically took all my chances to live, and they clearly didn’t give a damn about my story. And to be totally honest I didn’t give them a hell of a lot to work with, having been trained by both Philippe and John/Johann that anything you say to the cops will be used against you.

After hefty stares like I had killed someone in cold blood turned me out onto the street again as they had no idea what to do with me as I wasn’t in the system. I was lucky I had been paying the simple little hotel in cash up front, but that didn’t last very long, and they too turned me out onto the street when the money ran out.

So there I was, suitcase of expensive clothes in hand, and nowhere to go. I had fallen from rags to riches to rags again, now being even worse off than ever before, but instead of getting angry, I grew cold inside as I counted my blessings. I wasn’t dead (yet), I was pretty enough, looked young while knowing too much to be young (which I could pawn off as being an adult), and had plenty of skills in the sack. What else is a girl to do but become a prostitute, selling my cunt for cash? I was smart enough not to get pawned in by some pimp who smacked his girls around, and through John’s contacts I quickly found the one I wanted to work for: a madame who had been in the business herself and protected her girls with hired muscle.

Explaining my situation to her, she agreed to take me in and put me up if I acted my age for the customers, kept myself drug-free, healthy and clean, and most of all stayed away from the drugs trade as even one of her girls dealing would shut down her cathouse. Through her I got my second fake ID card, now suddenly being Polish, as young Polish girls were all the rage. And playing the part, I learned to curse and speak in a Polish accent within two months.

I was a 16 year old professional cunt for hire, and men lined up, sometimes even paying double or triple the usual rate, to have me do weird fetishes to them like pissing or shitting on them, and bondage and S&M play in whipping and paddling someone raw, until they blew their load into a condom. I was always the Dominant and never the submissive, as to put yourself in a situation where someone else had control was unthinkable for me, not being able to trust anyone, and seeing every interaction as a transaction. As long as I was safe and got paid, I didn’t care about anyone else, no matter what they wanted. If they paid me enough and I would drink half a liter of sunflower oil to shit diarrhea on someone’s face, and afterwards they thanked me for it. Through all of it I kept myself safe and away from diseases, taking their money to give to the Madame, and in turn the Madame took care of me, as she gave me a clean bed to sleep in and made sure I ate. I think she saw how broken I really was, and being one of her prize earners, much to the chagrin of others girls who had actual limits, to her I was probably even worth caring for, even though I didn’t care enough about myself to take care of myself.

Later I learned that at the time I suffered from PTSD, but as I didn’t show on the outside what I felt on the inside nobody ever knew, not even me. All I knew at the time was that I was cold inside from the losses I had suffered. As long as I was cold, no one would be able to touch me, hurt me, on the inside, and so it didn’t matter what they did to the outside.

Or at least, so I thought, as Amy changed all that… and I still hate her for it.

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