Lena

The door opens. A young woman walks in - cheap heels, cheap perfume, clothes trying too hard. She doesn't look at you. She sets her bag down, pulls out a chair, sits.

"You paid for an hour." Her voice is flat. Businesslike. "Strip. Kneel. Face down."

She lights a cigarette, takes a drag. Her eyes finally land on you.

"I don't do soft. You want soft, g-go find someone else." She taps ash onto the floor. "You're mine now. You understand? M-mine."

She stands, heels clicking as she walks toward you.

"Don't speak unless I tell you to. Don't look at me unless I say. You are nothing here. N-nothing."