9 comments/ 102209 views/ 10 favorites Human Traffic By: J G Parkes She was a naïve fool. It took her a while to realise this, which made her an even bigger fool. She had always considered herself to be reasonably intelligent, though she had failed to get into university. But then, she could argue - and frequently did - there were so many young people trying to get good qualifications. It was the only way forward. Competition was intense and more failed than succeeded. Anya was such a one. She was born in a rural area of Lithuania where jobs and money were scarce. A good education was the road out of the poverty trap, but that was easier said than done. Anya could dream of a better life, but dreams have a way of remaining obstinately elusive. When she was 19, after the death of her mother, she decided to leave the small country town where she had been raised and head for the city of Vilnius, which was rapidly becoming a destination for western tourists. There was work to be had there, even if it was fairly menial and badly paid. At least in the city she would have a chance of bettering herself. It took Anya a couple of days to find a job as a waitress in a café. It was not the kind of establishment frequented by tourists with money to burn. The customers were all workers from the nearby offices and factories. There were also some students from the university. Lunchtime was always the busiest time of day, but even so Anya noticed Peter almost as soon as he walked in. Tall, dark and handsome is a cliché, but sometimes the cliché is true. So it was with Peter. He was blessed with the looks that make female hearts flutter and, even better, a natural wit and charm that made them sigh with longing for his attention. He was not alone, but was the centre of a small mixed group of students. They were cheerful and a little noisy, but not enough to cause a disturbance. On that first occasion nothing more was said between him and the pretty, young waitress than the giving and taking of an order. Nevertheless, he smiled warmly at her and she blushed with pleasure. The little group came into the café every day for a week at exactly the same time and Anya always contrived to serve them. The other two waitresses were much older and married; it would be such a waste for either of them to enjoy this brief contact with such a god. She knew it was silly and constantly scolded herself for such foolishness, but that was how she saw him; a god who could sweep her off her feet and take her to a better life. It was on the third day of the second week that the pattern was broken. Peter came into the café alone. Also, it was past lunchtime. Anya had been devastated by his non-appearance. All his friends were there, but there was no sign of him. She felt like asking them what had happened to him, but was too embarrassed. But later, in the middle of the afternoon, he appeared and sat at a table by the window. Anya went across to him and smiled. "Hello." "Hi." "You're late today." "Yes," he sighed. "Job interviews." "Are you leaving university?" "Got to, I'm afraid. There's been a bit of a financial crisis at home and I can't mess around any longer. Have to earn money." "I didn't think being educated at university was messing around." He snorted. "Don't you, now? That's because you've never attended." "No," Anya quietly agreed. "I haven't. What can I get you today?" "A coffee and a piece of that delicious apple pie will do me nicely." "Right." He grabbed her wrist as she moved away. "I haven't upset you, have I?" Anya shook her head. "No, why should you?" "I thought perhaps I was being a bit superior when I said you hadn't been to university." "Perhaps a little." "Then I'm sorry. I didn't mean to be." "You're forgiven." Anya went back to the counter, ordered the coffee and cut a generous slice of the apple pie. Peter was right. It was delicious and she was always pleased when there was some left at the end of the day and she could take it back to her small apartment. Unfortunately, it didn't happen often enough for her liking. She crossed back to Peter and put down his order. "Um. Looks good." He glanced around. There were only two other customers. "Pretty quiet in here." "It usually is at this time." "Can you sit down for a minute? Keep me company while I enjoy my coffee and pie." "Well...." Anya looked across at her boss who was busy tidying up behind the counter in readiness for the end of the day. "Maybe just a minute." She stayed for five - or was it ten - minutes? She would have liked to stay a lot longer, for they talked easily together, but another customer came in and work intervened. However, it set the pattern for the next few days. Peter stopped coming at lunchtime with his friends and instead came in the late afternoon when they could sit and talk for a while. The boss didn't seem to mind. Anya was a good and reliable worker. She deserved a little sit down and a chat with a good customer; a very handsome customer who seemed to be taken with her. The boss was pleased. He liked Anya and wanted to see her happy. One day Peter came in full of excitement. "I've got a job," he explained. "Oh, Peter, I'm so happy." Anya took hold of his hands without thinking and they stood in the middle of the café staring at each other. "There's a snag," Peter said after a moment. "What?" "It's in London." "Oh." Anya suddenly felt deflated. He was going away. She wouldn't see him again. Of course, they hadn't 'seen' each other in that way; they hadn't been out on a date. Their meetings had been restricted to a few minutes each day in the public arena of the café. But Anya had dreams. They came at night in the warmth of her bed and darkness of her room. She was not alone. Peter was there. She could feel his hands on her breasts; shivered slightly as they slowly glided down her body reaching for that most private part of her body which lay between her legs. She would open wide for him and welcome his hardness into the very depths of her. In truth, she was a virgin and hadn't really much idea of what it would be like, but she could imagine how wonderful it would be. Yes, Anya had her dreams, but now they were to be shattered. He was going away. Far away. To London. To another country. "I've been thinking." Peter sat at a table, pulling Anya down onto another chair. He still held her hands. "We've not been out together or anything, but I think we get on very well." "So do I," Anya agreed. "I enjoy your company and I want to build on our tentative relationship." Anya blushed at the thought of them having any kind of relationship. But it was all going to end before it started. He was going away. "I'm going to a good job in London," Peter continued, "and I'd like you to come with me." Anya was astounded. "Come with you? To London?" "Yes. You'll be able to get a job, I'm sure of it. They're crying out for workers over there. At the very least you could work in a restaurant or hotel; maybe even something better. And I'll help you. Do you speak English?" "No." "I do. Not too bad, even if I say it myself. A result of my privileged education. Anyway, I could teach you. You strike me as an intelligent young woman and I think you'll get the hang of it quickly enough." "Would we...." Anya hesitated, unsure how to put the question. "Live together?" Peter guessed and put it for her. "That was the general idea. I really think there's a strong spark between us. We'd be good as a couple." There were so many butterflies inside Anya she thought it highly likely she would take flight herself. Suddenly, out of the blue, her whole life was going to change. She was going to a better life in another country with the man of her dreams. She could hardly believe it. ***** She was a fool. She shouldn't have believed it. At any rate, she shouldn't have believed him. She looked at herself in the mirror and added a little lip-stick; not too much. The painted doll image was hateful. A little taste in everything. Subtlety, that was the name of the game as far as Anya was concerned. She may once have been a simple country girl, but not now; that girl had gone forever. It didn't take long. The arrangements for their travel were quickly made. Since Lithuania had joined the EU in May 2004 passports were hardly necessary, though it was still required to flash quickly at the immigration people standing around. Rarely was anyone stopped and their papers closely examined. It turned out that Peter was already in possession of a passport and it took little time to obtain one for Anya. She might have wondered about that, but was unversed about the ways of officialdom and the usual slow grinding of wheels. In less than a week they were on their way and she was able to say 'thank you', 'please', 'no', 'yes', 'hello' and 'goodbye'. It didn't seem much good to her. If anybody spoke in English, even Peter, she was unable to understand a word. It would come, he assured her. You can't expect to speak a completely new language in a few days; it takes time. Be patient. After a flight of about three hours the plane landed in Heathrow. To Anya it was an unbelievably vast area thronged with people going off in all directions. Metallic voices speaking complete gibberish came out of unseen speakers. Meaningless signs directed travellers to all points, including baggage claim; meaningless to Anya, but not to Peter. He made his way confidently along one corridor, then another and down steps until they were standing by a stationary conveyor belt waiting for it to come to life. She had one rather battered suitcase of modest proportions to collect whilst Peter...Peter had nothing but a small carry-on bag. She should have wondered about that, too. As expected they walked through immigration with scarcely a glance from the officials and Anya was suddenly confronted by the awe-inspiring terminal. She was almost open-mouthed at the unfamiliar sights and sounds. Peter was holding her by the arm as he hurried her along between two barriers. There were numerous people on the other side of it holding small placards that were easily seen by the new arrivals. He went over to a short, thick-set man who held a hastily written name scrawled on a large piece of paper. The two men shook hands and Anya was quickly led towards the exit between them. Not a word had been said, but as they walked the stranger spoke into a mobile phone. Although Anya could hear clearly enough she could make no sense of the language. They stood outside the terminal for a few minutes and then a car pulled up. The doors opened, a man got out and gestured to Anya to sit in the back. She climbed in, the doors were slammed and the car pulled away. Without Peter! Anya looked back. He was walking away and disappeared back into the terminal. "What's happening?" she asked the man sitting next to her in her native tongue. He didn't speak, but shrugged his shoulders as if to say don't ask me. "Stop the car!" she shouted, hitting the driver on his back several times. "Let me out! Stop the car!" He momentarily lost control and the car swerved slightly. He spoke sharply to the man next to her who responded by grabbing her wrists and pushing her down onto the floor. Fear flooded through her. She screamed and fought hard, but to no avail. He had a tight hold. After several minutes of violent struggle she gave in and sank back against the seat, rubbing her wrists. What was happening? Where had Peter gone? Why had she been left alone with three men who were unable to communicate with her? The questions kept coming, but there were no answers. After a fairly short drive the car turned off the road, bumped along a track and came to a stop. The two men in front got out and opened the door next to Anya, who was still laid on the floor. She was roughly pulled out and onto her feet then quickly hustled into a farm-house. In one continuous movement she was taken along a dimly lit passage and into a room almost bare of furniture. There was, however, a bed. The door was closed leaving only Anya and one man in the room. He spoke to her and gesticulated. She shook her head to indicate her non-understanding. In response the man slapped her cheek, leaving red welts. He shouted and repeated the gesture, but Anya, completely bewildered, stood rubbing her burning cheek. He shouted again, pulled at her clothes and then took off his own jacket. Enlightenment suddenly came and horrified Anya. He wanted her to take off her clothes. Everything suddenly became clear. She remembered a discussion in the café where she had worked. Some customers were talking about a news item. A Lithuanian girl had been tricked into going to Germany for a well paid job. As soon as she was there some men had turned her into a prostitute. After more than a year she had managed to escape and report her experiences. Anya had only half listened and not thought about it since. But here she was; tricked and helpless in an unknown house and in a country that wasn't even part of the European mainland. The man shouted again. More gesticulation. Should she scream? Fight? Claw his eyes out? What could she hope to achieve? She was in the middle of nowhere. If, by some remote chance she made it through the door what then? Who might be outside? Someone to help? Or someone to recapture her? The man raised his hand to strike her again. She wanted to use one of the six English words at her disposal: no. She wanted to, but realising the futility of resistance, she slowly began to unbutton the short jacket she was wearing. He stood watching impassively, his arms folded across his chest, as she removed her garments one by one. She had never been naked in front of a man before, except a doctor when she was twelve and that hardly seemed to count. But now... She had stripped off all her clothes and stood with her arms across her breasts and hands over her pubic area. She knew that such modesty was all for nothing, but her natural instinct was to keep herself covered as long as possible. The man pushed her down onto the bed and lay on top of her, even though he was still dressed. With one hand pressing her down by the neck he undid his flies with the other. Anya had some knowledge of a man's anatomy, but she had never seen a penis. She didn't this time as her head was being held back onto the mattress and she could only look at the ceiling. In fact, as she felt his hardness pushing against her labia, she closed her eyes in a vain attempt to blot out what was happening to her. She opened to the pressure and he drove in with no consideration for the tenderness of a virgin passage. A searing pain marked the bursting of her hymen and she cried out, the pressure on her neck making it a strangulated cry. The man pulled out and she was suddenly covered in a creamy, sticky solution that erupted from his...thing. He closed his zip, picked up her clothes and left the room. She remained where she was, stretched out on the bed with something trickling slowly out of her and onto her leg. After a few moments she sat up and examined herself. It was blood. Her mother had told her about it. The first time; that was all. After that there was no blood. The first time. This had been Anya's first time. She had dreamed about it happening, but in her dreams her lover was gentle and careful; tenderly caressing and wooing her. It was not like this. The dream had turned into a nightmare. She began to cry. The door opened and a woman stood on the threshold studying the weeping girl. The newcomer looked a few years older than Anya. With a thin face, unkempt hair and shabby clothes she presented an unprepossessing appearance. Upon seeing the blood on the girl and the stained sheets she tutted and impatiently moved into the room. Seizing Anya, non too gently, by the arm, the woman dragged her out into the passage and pushed her through another door. It turned out to be a bathroom. "Clean yourself." The look of incomprehension on Anya's face reminded the woman that the girl was unable to understand English. A flannel was thrust into one hand, soap into the other and a towel over her arm. The message was clear. Words were not needed. Anya was grateful for the chance to rid herself of the blood and - and whatever had squirted onto her from the man. No. Beast. Not a man. He was a beast to do such a thing. The door was closed. And a lock turned. ***** She didn't know it then, but the ordeal had only just begun that day. She had hardly been returned to the bedroom - to find the sheets had been changed - when another man came. He was naked and masturbating himself to a hardness. The thin-faced woman was still there and she slipped a rubber onto him. He went to Anya and pushed her down onto the bed. He lay between her legs, pushing them open with his knees, gripped her breasts tightly and drove into her, making her cry out. He was talking as he pounded. The language sounded different from the other. In fact, she could almost fancy she could recognise one or two words. Peter had used them. Peter. The memory of his laughter brought a tear to her eye. What had he done to her? How could he? He seemed so nice. Two words that she hadn't heard before kept coming out of the man's mouth. They were both short, hard and insistent words. "Cock". He thrust in with the instrument of his pleasure and her shame. More words and then - "Cunt". He repeated both words several times: "Cock and cunt." The man left as soon as he was finished, but another was already in the throes of being prepared. The rubber was put on, he went to the bed and mounted the helpless girl. She lost count of how many men came to her that day. Her private parts felt bruised and sore. There were marks on her breasts where heavy hands had squeezed too hard; her nipples were tender to touch. If there was any sympathy in the thin-faced woman it was hard to find. It was dark when she brought some food and a cup of tea and she banged it down on a bedside table with nothing but a growl for words. At least, so it seemed to the exhausted girl. She was unable to eat, but managed to drink some tea. Had they finished with her? It had been a little while since a man had been brought to her. She could see it was dark outside and she became aware of the sound of a plane passing close overhead. In fact, now she was able to think about anything, she realised there was a constant stream of planes and they were almost on top of the house. Planes. It was a plane that had brought her to this hell on earth. A plane could take her away. There was another roar above her. So near and yet so far. She cried herself to sleep, curled into a foetal position and wondered what was to happen to her. ***** The following day they gave Anya her clothes, hustled her down the passage and bundled her into the car so swiftly her feet hardly touched the ground. They drove for a long time on wide, fast roads, the like of which she had never seen before. There were lots of cars, lorries and buses going in both directions, seemingly all on the wrong side of the road. She gazed out of the window lost in wonderment at the strange world that was flashing past and yet traumatised by the events of the previous day. It could all have been so exciting if she had been free to enjoy it. Instead she was a prisoner condemned to a life of shame and disgust. The car pulled into a motorway service station and parked. Nobody got out. The three men and Anya sat there and waited. The men talked to each other in their strange tongue and ignored the girl. She knew they were waiting for something. She had no idea what, but one of the men looked at his watch and said something. They waited. After nearly half an hour another car pulled in alongside them. The man who had taken Anya's virginity got out and joined another who emerged from the new arrival. They talked fairly briefly and both looked at Anya. It was obvious that she was the subject of their discussion. There was much gesticulation and argument and then a shrug of acceptance from the rapist. He handed over a passport and in exchange received a wad of money, which he carefully counted before opening the car door. Human Traffic Anya was seized by the arm and pulled out. Almost before she knew what was happening she had been bundled into the second car, the doors were slammed and it started off. The man next to her spoke, but again she had no idea what was said. The language sounded much the same as that used by the first men. How long they drove and where they went Anya had not the least idea, but they eventually arrived in a large city and pulled up outside a large old house in a wide tree-lined street. There was a woman waiting to greet them. She looked to be in her thirties and was running to fat, but was facially most attractive. She smiled at the girl. "Welcome to my house." Anya almost gasped. She could understand. "You are from Lithuania!" she exclaimed. "That's right." "Please help me. These men have kidnapped me." "Oh no, dear. They've bought you, fair and square." "Bought me?" "What happened to you before has nothing to do with them. They're Albanians, by the way. I know what you've been through, but the first day is always the worst." "I was forced to...to..." Anya found herself unable to say it. "With so many men." "I know, dear," the woman said sympathetically. "It's all for the best. Breaking you in, you see. Gives you no time to think about it. But all that is behind you now. I run a good, clean establishment and my girls are well treated. My name is Elena. You'll find our clients are all of the better kind. No roughs here. Behave yourself, work well and you'll have no trouble." "Work?" "That's what you came to England for, isn't it? To work." "Yes, but...." "Not quite what you were thinking. Is that it? Well, my dear, it's all a case of market forces, you see. There's a market for pretty young things like you. You're very much in demand and you've got to go where the work is, haven't you?" "Please, I don't want to." Elena's face suddenly hardened and her voice whip-lashed across the girl. "That's too bad. We've paid good money for you and you're going to prove that you're worth it. Now, up the stairs with you." Anya miserably did as she was told. Her brief hope of salvation cruelly snatched away from her. She was shown into a bedroom. "This is yours. Keep it clean and tidy. The clients don't like to be brought into a tip." Elena's voice softened. "I'm like you, dear. Well, maybe not quite like you. I got into this game when I was still in Lithuania. The Russians had gone. It was like a great cloud over the country had been lifted. Money was spilling from everywhere. Of course, you're too young to remember. Not much more than a baby. I was your age when the change came. It was easy to get paid to drop my drawers. I got a pimp..." "Pimp?" "He looked after my business affairs. He was real good to me, so I married him. Everything was going well until the silly bleeder killed someone." Anya was horrified. "Your husband killed someone?" "Pulled a knife out in an argument. Anyway, we had to get out. We had money put by. Getting into England was a piece of cake. We bought this house and set up a nice little business. And now you're going to be part of it. For a while." "Please - no." "You'll soon get used to it." Anya was certain that she would never "get used to it", but arguing was out of the question. She would have to bide her time and see what could be done. "Here you are, dear." Elena held out some filmy material. "What's this?" "A dress. Put that on and come down in an hour. Nothing else. Just the dress." Elena crossed the room to a TV set and switched it on. The screen flickered into life, but there was no picture. "Experience is a good teacher, but a learning aid can be useful. Watch this video and you'll get a good idea about how to prepare a man. So far you've only been penetrated by men who have masturbated themselves. From now on that will be your job." She handed over a remote control. "Push that button when you're ready to watch." The older woman left the room, closing the door, but not locking it. Anya briefly thought of trying to escape, but realised the impossibility of getting all the way through the house without being seen. She would probably only get one chance and so had to choose wisely. The room, now she had time to examine it, was really quite pleasant. Tastefully decorated, bright curtains and a matching bed-cover. As well as an overhead light there were two table lamps with fringed shades. In fact, Anya ruefully admitted, it was a better room than the one she had at home. Even so, the thought of what she would have to do in it made her slump onto the bed and cry. After a session of feeling sorry for herself Anya switched on the video and sat down to watch. Language proved to be no barrier as there was no dialogue, only moans, gasps, grunts and groans. It proved to be very instructive for nothing was left to the imagination. Anya could graphically see everything that she would be expected to do and, most importantly, how to do it. After watching for a while in horrified disbelief she turned off the video and changed out of her clothes and into the dress. There was hardly anything to it. Low cut and short, it revealed most of her breasts and hardly covered her bottom. Not that it really made much difference. The material was so thin her nipples and pubic hair could be seen through it. "I look like a whore," Anya muttered as she examined herself in a mirror. Then she realised that was exactly what she was. ***** When Anya went downstairs she found there were five girls already in the lounge, sitting about in chairs and on a settee. They were all about Anya's age and were dressed much as she was, though in varying colours. There was an oppressive silence in the room, not even broken by a greeting to the new arrival. The other girls gave her barely a glance. After a moment's hesitation Anya found a vacant chair and sat on it. She could almost imagine she was in a doctor's waiting room. Through the window she could see people passing by in the street. They were free to come and go as they pleased, whilst she.... The silence was suddenly shattered by the chime of a doorbell. Anya jumped slightly at the unexpected sound, but the other girls hardly registered anything - except, perhaps, they became even more sullen than before. Elena came into the room with a man. He was tall and thin with little hair and a grey complexion. He looked round the room then spotted Anya. "This the new one?" He spoke in English. Although Anya was unable to understand the words his gesture and eyes staring directly at her left her in little doubt that she was the subject. "Anya," Elena replied. "Only nineteen. Fresh from Lithuania. Inexperienced, of course." The man's eyes lit up. "A virgin?" "No. Sorry. A little necessary...training. You understand." "Yes. Well, if she's not a virgin I may as well have the same one as last week. She knows what she's doing. A new one...well...probably going to fumble around. I'm paying good money. I want to be sure it's worthwhile." Elena smiled. "Of course." She crooked her finger at one of the girls. "Katya. If you please." The girl slowly rose from the chair and led the man out of the room. Anya briefly saw them going up the stairs before the door was closed. There were three more men before one decided that the newcomer would suit him fine. He liked fresh talent. Elena nodded to Anya, who slowly rose, her legs feeling like lead. The man was middle-aged, balding and over-weight, his stomach a gross protrusion. He talked constantly as he stripped off his clothes, but Anya could understand nothing much except that one word - cock - which seemed to be such a major part of the English language. She knew the meaning of it and what she was expected to do with it. Removing her dress took only a couple of seconds and she stood naked before him feeling shy and exposed, despite all that had happened to her. He pressed her down onto her knees and pushed her head towards his rapidly stiffening weapon. Lightly running her fingers along its length hardened it even more quickly. The pressure on her head increased and her lips were pushed against his cock. She took it into her mouth. He kept talking. Meaningless, gibberish words poured out of him, punctuated by groans and sighs. "Oh, yes." Anya understood that. She also understood that she was doing what he wanted and giving him pleasure. As for herself, she felt nothing but a bleak and dark despair. This was to be the sum total of her life. She was taken by surprise when the man quickly pulled himself away, hauled her up and flung her onto the bed. He pushed her legs apart with his knees, lay on top of her and without any ceremony, thrust his rampant cock into her. It took no time at all. Already brought to a state of readiness with her mouth he flooded his semen into her vagina almost as soon as he had entered. He sagged down on top of her when he had finished, panting rapidly as if he had run a five mile race. It was obvious he was badly out of condition. His heavy breathing continued for some time whilst Anya was crushed beneath his body. His cock was still inside her, but she could feel the life going out of it until it shrivelled into nothing. She stared up at the ceiling and watched a fly crawling along. It was free. Free to fly off whenever and wherever it wanted. She was pinned to the bed, skewered by a man who was completely unknown to her and trapped in a hateful life not of her choosing. She longed to be the fly. Suddenly she saw it had become caught in a spider's web. Desperately it struggled against the fine threads that had wrapped themselves around it. But to no avail. The more it squirmed, the more enmeshed it became. "There's no escape," thought Anya. "For either of us." A tear rolled down her cheek. She was crying for herself - and for the fly. ***** Keeping a brothel and controlling another adult's prostitution for gain were both illegal and thus it might be supposed that the police would soon be calling upon a house such as the one run by Elena. It was not the case. Practically all the houses in the street were broken into flats or used for bed and breakfast and were owned by immigrants. Nobody was much concerned by the activities next door. The few remaining non-immigrant residents preferred to keep a low profile and operated a policy of see-no-evil, hear-no-evil. The police, therefore, had no knowledge of the plight of Anya and the other girls. Over the next few weeks - Anya had no idea how many as one day blurred into another - she serviced several men during each long session. She received no money; all the profits being taken by Elena and her partners, but was given three good meals a day and lived with some degree of comfort. However, she was confined in the house all the time and boredom was an ever present enemy. The system was simple. Each customer was given a list of prices, though regulars knew them by heart, and according to how much they were prepared to pay they would be given a length of time with the girl of their choice. Once inside her room she had to do whatever the punter wanted. There were virtually no limits. If required she would have to suck cock, take it up her pussy or her arse. Mild smacking was allowed, but not whipping, bondage or sado-masochism. Minders were always patrolling the house ready to interrupt if the girl seemed to be in too much distress. It took a surprisingly short time for Anya to become accustomed to her life, though she still didn't like it and thought longingly of escaping. Her customers ranged from elderly men, some of them barely able to get a hard-on, and young men experiencing sex for the first time. On one occasion she had a man who was going to be married the next day. She thought it strange that he would buy a prostitute the night before his wedding. On the whole she closed her eyes and tried not to think about what she was doing, letting the men use her in whatever they wanted. She felt nothing but an emptiness as they pawed her body and rammed their cocks into her. Sometimes she could feel a little spark and her juices flowed, usually with a man who took his time and treated her gently. Whenever she had the chance Anya assimilated new words in English, slowly widening her vocabulary. It was a slow, fumbling process, but one man in particular was a great help. He was a frequent client who seemed to genuinely like her and was willing to spend half his time teaching her a new language. They were even able to laugh together over some of her more outlandish efforts at pronunciation. One morning Anya was still in bed when she was disturbed by a noise. She looked up and saw Elena standing in the doorway. "Get up and get dressed." Anya tried to rub the sleep out of her eyes. "There's a customer already?" Elena shook her head. "No. I mean get dressed. Outdoor clothes." Anya sat up, feeling excited. "I'm going out?" "You're leaving us." "Leaving?" "It's time for some fresh blood. You'll have noticed a few girls changing over the weeks. Now it's your turn." "But, where am I going?" "Another town, another house and different bosses. Quickly now. You've only got a short time to get some breakfast." The door closed. Suddenly Anya felt frightened. She hadn't realised how much she had come to rely upon the comfort and security of her environment. There was a routine to life; familiar people and rooms; even the clients had become known to her, many of them being repeat visitors. And now it was all to be snatched away from her. She was once more going to be plunged into the fearsome unknown. Slowly getting out of bed she began to get dressed, fighting to keep her apprehension under control and the nausea at bay. What was to happen to her now? ***** There were two men in the car. They ignored their passenger and talked to each other in their own tongue. After driving for an hour they pulled into a motorway stop. It was the same routine as before. Another car was already waiting. There was only one man in it. He gave Anya a quick inspection, which embarrassingly included lifting her top and showing her breasts, and then she was transferred from one vehicle to the other. An envelope was handed over, the contents quickly checked and doors slammed. The car with Anya took a back road out of the service station and was soon in the middle of a town. After negotiating through heavy traffic they pulled up outside a block of flats which had obviously been built many years before and was showing all the signs of age and neglect. "We are home." He spoke in a heavily accented English, but Anya could understand clearly enough. Home? Maybe for the man, but not for her. He took her arm, holding on firmly. If she had even the vaguest thought of running off there was no chance. A lift took them up five floors to a gloomy corridor with doors on both sides. As they walked along Anya heard a child crying behind one door and the raised voices of quarrelling adults behind another. The man stopped in front of No. 53, took a key from his pocket and let them both in. The flat was small; sitting-room, one bedroom, kitchen and bathroom. They were all untidy and Anya soon discovered, not too clean. "Make coffee," the man grunted, taking her into the kitchen. He showed her where to find the ingredients. "Plenty sugar." The man grinned. Two teeth were missing. "I am very sweet." Somehow Anya doubted that, but she nodded and set about making the coffee. She was in need of some herself. Surprisingly there was cake, too. Good cake. They were drinking their coffee, Anya on a settee, the man in an armchair. "I am Sergei," he suddenly announced. "Anya." "From Lithuania." "Yes." "I am Russian." She had already guessed. He was stocky and heavily-built, but not fat and there was designer stubble on his chin. He looked to be in his early thirties. He offered the plate with cake on it. "Another piece?" Anya shook her head. "No, thank you." It was bizarre. She could almost imagine she had been invited to a tea - or rather - coffee party. "You are pretty girl. I saw your photograph and liked what I saw. I paid a lot of money to get you out of the brothel." Anya looked surprised. Was it possible he had bought her freedom? But why? She soon discovered. "You will be my woman and also work off your debt. I have an arrangement with a sauna." "A sauna?" Anya struggled with the unfamiliar word. "A steam bath. But it is not only a sauna. You will be entertaining above." He gripped his trousered penis and jerked his hips in a crude gesture of the sexual act. It was plain what the euphemism 'entertaining' meant. Without any warning he suddenly slapped her hard across the face. She staggered back with a cry. "This is to remember," Sergei pointed a warning finger. "You will do as you are told. No running away. No causing trouble. Or there is worse for you. You work hard, make men happy and I will be happy. You understand?" Anya, clutching her burning cheek, could only nod. "Now, get into bedroom. Show me what you can do." He was not a caring, gentle lover. She hardly had time to undress before he fell on her, forcing her back onto the bed. His knees pushed her legs apart as his tongue and lips worked their way around her areola and nipples, licking and pulling them. His fingers were roughly prising open her labia and penetrating the vagina. His onslaught managed to produce a little wetness. He grunted in satisfaction as he became aware of her reaction. Anya's eyes were tightly closed as she tried to blot out the assault on her already ill-used body. She desperately wanted not to respond, but natural impulses were coming to the fore. Perhaps it was a safety mechanism. If she was dry he would hurt her as his hard cock drove in; wetness would make the passage that much easier. She should be grateful for small mercies. He entered. She tightly gripped the covers on the bed as he thrust back and forth, grunting with every forward push. He lasted several minutes and Anya was beginning to think he would never finish, but at last he cried out and gave one last thrust. His sperm flooded into her. She had been given pills to take. Condoms were not popular with customers and a man like Sergei would never dream of using one when being serviced by his bought and paid for whore. "Take one every day," Elena had told her. "No babies. But do not forget." He pulled out of her almost immediately and left her lying naked on the bed, a trickle of sperm leaking from her vagina. She stayed still as she heard the television switched on in the next room. That night he took her to the sauna. ***** There was little difference between the sauna and the brothel except that Anya was taken there every day. If, perhaps, she had an idea of making a run for it after they had left the flat it was only a fleeting thought. Sergei always held her hand, just like any loving couple might, though his grip was tighter than might be expected. And if she ran, where would she go with no money, no identity and no idea where she was? It was another anonymous city, no different from any other. As in the brothel there was a lounge for the women between customers and six bedrooms. The lounge hardly justified its name as there was nothing in it except a well-worn, battered settee, four uncomfortable hard-backed chairs and tea/coffee making facilities. The bedrooms were just that; a room with a bed. On her first day Anya was greeted by a couple of older women with a cheerful, friendly manner. "Where are you from, love?" enquired one. "My name is Anya. From Lithuania." "Oh yeh? Where's that then?" Anya shrugged. Answering such a question was beyond her. Human Traffic "One of them east European countries, int it?" volunteered the second woman. "Used to be part of Russia." Anya nodded. "The USSR. Yes." "Oh. Well... nice to meet you, Anya. I'm Margie and this is Jane." The routine was the same as before. Wait to be picked by a customer, take him to a bedroom and let him do what he had paid for. But there was one vital difference in the sauna, as Anya soon discovered. The working girls - some of whom were older than the euphemistic term implies - were all there by choice. They were English and under no form of coercion, except perhaps, economical. And the take-home pay was not to be sniffed at. "Got a nice house and two cars," Margie informed Anya. "Paying my daughter's way through University, too." In conversation Anya, who received no money at all, said as little as possible, making good use of her lack of English. She had been warned not to reveal her situation if she knew what was good for her. The exact meaning of the threat was lost on her, but she could imagine. Sergei was an extremely volatile man with a quick temper, though also capable of unexpected kindness. His demands for sex were frequent, but it was not always rough; sometimes he even managed a little tenderness. On those occasions Anya found herself responding to his kisses, caresses and thrusting penis. ***** The end came swiftly and unexpectedly. Anya had just finished with a customer - a black man whose cock did not conform to the mythology of great size - when the proprietor of the sauna burst into the lounge. He grabbed hold of Anya. "Get your things together and get out," he ordered. Anya was bewildered. "Out? Is Sergei here?" "No, he bloody isn't. The cops have got him." "What for?" Margie asked. "Drugs." "A user?" "Dealer. In it up to his neck. He'll be singing loud and clear." He turned to Anya. "I want you out of this place. Double quick." "But where can I go?" "I don't bleeding know or care. But don't go back to the flat." "You can't shove the lass out onto the street just like that," protested Margie. "Why not? She can work it 'stead of being nice and comfy-like in here." "You're a heartless bastard, Jake Thomson." "Mebbe, but my motto is look after Number One. I don't want the coppers latching onto the girl and sniffing round here." "Is she in the drugs business, too?" "No." "So what's the worry about?" Jake hesitated, then blurted out: "She shouldn't be here." "In the sauna, you mean?" "In the country. She was sort of - kidnapped and brought in." Margie was horrified. "What the bleeding hell are you saying? Anya's a sex slave?" "Yeh, something like that," mumbled Jake. "Well, that's me then." Margie began putting on her street clothes. "I'm not bloody staying in a place that uses poor lasses trapped into sexual slavery. You can count me out. Come on, Anya." The trembling girl was taken to Margie's home, a very pleasant detached house in a leafy suburban street. She listened in horror as Anya related her story in halting, imperfect English, shaking her head in disbelief at man's inhumanity to woman. "We've got to decide what you're going to do now." "I am free?" Anya asked. "Yeh, love. Free to do what you want. Go back to Lithuania, settle here - whatever." "But I have no money." "Don't worry about that. I'll pay your fare back if that's what you want. You can stay here with me for a bit while you think things over." "You are kind." "Just doing what's right, love." Anya stayed for two weeks, during which time the two women had many long conversations. Margie had three daughters and a son who had left home and was working in Brussels. "For the EU," Margie proudly informed her visitor. "The eldest daughter, Debbie, is at Uni. As for the other two lasses - well, they're still here to plague me." It was at night in the solitude of her comfortable room that Anya really thought about her future. Lithuania offered nothing; England could offer.... This. She looked at the stylish, almost-new furniture, curtains and decoration. She thought about the lovely home being provided by Margie for her children. "All me own work," she told Anya. "Their father did bloody-all for any of us. I put bread in our mouths and a decent roof over our heads by the sweat of me brow - or perhaps I should say, by laying on me back and opening me legs." "Your children know what you do?" "Oh, aye." "And they do not mind?" "They know I've done what's best for them in the only way open to a thick, uneducated woman like me." "Thick?" "Dim." Anya smiled and took Margie's hand. "I think you are not so very - thick." "Thanks, love." Anya thought carefully. She had been well trained for one purpose. Some customers had even said she was good at it. As a sex slave she had been miserable, but it would be a different story as a free and independent sex worker. "But not on the streets, love," Margie had advised. "Never on the streets. Disease, drugs, dirt and rapists, that's all you get. You want somewhere decent. In fact, you're young and pretty. You've got style. You want to look for somewhere classy." It was Debbie who found the answer on the internet. Whilst trawling through webs advertising escort services she came across one looking for additional girls for their portfolio. "You'd have a few photos - the glamour kind - prices and contact details. It all looks very professional and high class." "That's what you want, love," said Margie. "You've got real style. It's been wasted so far, but you can put your talents to really good use with a proper set-up." Debbie showed a paper to Anya. "These are the prices. £70 for thirty minutes, a hundred and thirty-five for an hour and two hundred and sixty for two. All night is £750. Of course, that's only a guide. Make up your own if you want." "I have no room." "No problem, love." Margie took hold of Anya's hand. "We'll find somewhere nice for you and I'll stump up the initial payment for rent and getting it looking nice. It won't take you long to pay me off and then you'll be on your own two feet. It'll only be a room for business, of course, so you'll have to stay here until you've got enough put by to find your own place to live." "I cannot accept." "Course you can. Us working girls have got to stick together." And so it was done. Anya expected her client any minute. She checked the room. Everything was in place. Smooth music softly playing, lighting suitably dimmed, the bed cover turned down. She had been working for herself for over a year. All her debts were paid and she had a small house of her own. Business was brisk and the rewards great. Occasionally she actually escorted a client to a function of some description, but most of her bookings were for incalls where sex was the sole requirement. Yes, she had been a naïve fool, but perhaps everything had turned out for the best. The doorbell rang and she smiled as she greeted her visitor. Was she happy? Happiness is relative, isn't it? Prostitution was not a career she would have chosen and her entrée to the world of sex for sale had been both brutal and traumatic. But now....well, she was leading a better life than she would if she had still been in Lithuania. And she had learned another language; her English was no longer restricted to a few odd words, including cock. Now she knew what a cunt was and tits and boobs and.... "Oh God," groaned the client. "I love to fill your pussy." Yes, that was another word she had learned. But she knew more than that. She could converse freely now on a wide range of subjects, as well as read books and newspapers. The man slid in and out rapidly building up speed. He wouldn't last much longer, which, perhaps, was all for the best as he was completely breathless. "Yes!" he yelled. "Yes, yes, yes!" His hardened penis disgorged its semen and he collapsed in a heap on top of her. Well, maybe good conversation was not often needed, but at least Anya could sound well-informed and intelligent when necessary. "That was bloody good," sighed the man. "Was it for you?" "I have never felt so good," murmured Anya. "To feel your cock inside me gives me so much pleasure." Not to mention the money he had paid, she could have added, but didn't. "You are such a big boy and you fit so tightly into my cunt. The thrills, they run up and down my spine. I tingle all over with the excitement." "Yeh, me too. You really are something, do you know that?" Yes she really was something; a free woman. But she was lucky, she knew that. It could have all turned out so much worse. She might still be trapped into sexual slavery, as so many of her peers were. A life of degradation and despair, without hope. As it was...she was lucky. ***** Two excited young women from Lithuania arrived at Heathrow in the company of a travel company representative. They were the lucky winners of a competition; a week's holiday in London. He led them out of the terminal. After a couple of minutes a large car with smoked glass windows pulled up in front of them. The girls giggled as a uniformed chauffeur climbed out of the car and opened the rear door. They happily climbed in. The door was closed and before they realised the travel representative was no longer with them the car pulled away into a stream of traffic. Soon they were in a house near the airport where a thin-faced woman awaited their arrival.