I have a small bathroom to clean myself between clients and that’s all.
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I sit on the end of the bed in this dingy room, my maid waiting for the knock on the door of a client that will be my tenth and it’s only 8pm. And now here I am stuck in a walk-up for a week and I don’t think I will survive it. I hit him hard in the face with the heel of my shoe. After another coke-fueled night, I had taken offense at his accusations over me screwing other men to make my own money. I was addicted to cocaine and drank heavily and he was self-medicating me with Valium. I loved him, needed him, like I thought I would die without him! More likely I was going to die because of him. My back and buttocks bore the marks of frequent lashings with a belt or telephone cable, but I kept coming back for more. I was swollen and sore, even bleeding, from brute force or foreign objects. My wrists were often red raw from being bound. I was bruised and battered on my chest, sides and legs, my upper arms and throat showing the distant signs of his hand prints. I have probably had concussion several times. He had broken two of my fingers, fractured a rib and broken my arm. I wasn’t afraid to hit back as I knew he would hurt me anyway. You see, I had started to express my pain and anger towards him and was lashing out more often. I have been sent to a walk-up, after yet another huge fight leading to me hitting him in the jaw with my shoe. She wanted to wreak havoc everywhere and cause destruction and ultimately her own death. I hear the key turn in the lock and all there is, is the dark.ĭown in that cellar a girl had been born full of pure rage and anger, continually tormented and too dangerous to be let out. “Good girl, now that wasn’t that bad was it?” And he smiles and walks upstairs. When he finished, the men headed upstairs chatting and joking. I am paralyzed there in that room and darkness comes over me tying me in a knot and there is no humanity to be found. I have lost all ability to fight them and I give my body to them. My voice is strangled, not even a whisper, but inside I’m screaming so loud the whole street would hear. “Why are you doing this to me? Please stop, you’re hurting me.” I’m sobbing, my chest so tight I can’t breathe, only take a shallow breath. Number six and seven come together and I’m beginning to lose all hope. The pain sears through me like a hot poker but I still fight as best I can. “God no not in there,” I scream as he forces himself into my anus. When the fourth stops, I take a moment to gather myself but then the fifth comes and flips me onto my stomach. My mind slips away, trying to find some nice memory to cling to but its blank. The brutal thrusts feel like they will tear me apart. I’m still fighting with every ounce of strength I have in me, hoping they will stop. I’m hoping Steve will tell them to stop but he’s just standing there watching with great interest. I try to pull away but they are too powerful. I cry out pleading with him but he’s already on top of me, my knickers torn off and discarded like a rag. “She will calm down eventually, you’ll see.” But the first man is already pulling down my trousers and I’m kicking, trying to stop him but the others hold me down. “You don’t have to do this I will do whatever you want!” I scream in desperation at him. Steve removes the gag and unties my wrists.
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I’m already struggling and crying out as he takes me to the mattress on the floor. But the question has already been answered in my mind and I know that my life will be changed forever. Surely, I’m not to be offered up to all of them? I’m horrified and afraid. A group of men stand there and my legs begin to buckle beneath me. Gagged and bound, I’m led down the steps into the basement. This provides a space for women to tell of their experiences of the sex trade in their own words. ‘Sarah’ sent this harrowing and powerful piece about her experiences in prostitution through our Share Your Story page.